


Don't Leave Me the Way I Am

by glayish



Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: Brothers, Coming Out, Community: norsekink, First Kiss, Guilt, Homosexuality, Jealousy, M/M, Pining, Sibling Incest, Sibling Love, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-21
Updated: 2013-09-03
Packaged: 2017-11-08 06:30:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 59,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/440176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glayish/pseuds/glayish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He wished he could use Mjölnir as a blacksmith would, hammer himself out until he was shining and straight.</i>
</p><p>Thor discovers he is gay as he grows up but guiltily hides it until he falls for his brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> THIS STORY IS NOW COMPLETE.
> 
> Now that this can be read in its entirety, please feel free to leave me a comment or kudos if you enjoyed it.
> 
> Thank you to my amazing beta TechnoRanma!! I could not have done it without your help. And thank you to everyone who has left me such wonderful comments and kudos over the course of writing. 
> 
> Written for [this prompt](http://norsekink.livejournal.com/9985.html?thread=20400129#t20400129) on the [norsekink](http://norsekink.livejournal.com) meme:
> 
> Loki/Thor, Thor is gay and feels guilty
> 
> I want to see Thor discovering at a young age that he's gay, which is severely frowned on by Odin, so he tries desperately to hide it. As time goes on, he finds himself falling in love with his own brother, only adding to his perceived perversion. Loki, meanwhile, is using that silver tongue of his to woo as many women as he can, sending Thor into fits of rage and jealousy that he is too ashamed to explain.
> 
> I want lots and lots of Thor-style angst, guilt, self-hatred and confusion. Happy ending would be lovely, but not obligatory.

“Odin, please. He is just a boy.”

“Who will be _King_ one day, lest you forget!”

There’s the sound of chairs angrily scrapping across the stone floor, the odd hard stomp of a boot. Thor squeezes his eyes shut and leans back against the chamber door, its grain rough and cool against the back of his neck as he tries to listen. 

“He didn’t know any better. He’s too young. Surely, every boy does some such—”

“Not _MY_ boy!” Odin roars. 

There’s a moment of restless silence.

“He brings shame on us, Frigga. That boy’s parents are going to talk and there will be hearsay. You know, as well as I, how deep a rumour can cut... Thor will be scarred with this.”

“Nothing has to come of it. I will speak directly to young Fandral’s parents. They are a good people and only brought this to light for the boys’ safety.”

Thor wants to run away, far away from here. His father’s words terrify him because he does not _understand._ But it is like he’s anchored down, tied to this spot. Belatedly he realizes his face is wet, from what he knows not. He doesn’t really understand what he’s done wrong, what has made his father so angry. All Thor knows is that one moment he was laughing, running through the golden palace halls, the sun still sticking to his back. His red cloak that waved through the air was warm and his gait so fast he was pretending to fly. 

The next moment, it was as if he’d slammed up against a wall of ice. Thor had entered the courtroom where Odin Allfather stood, stone-faced and seething. He commanded Thor return to his chambers without supper and Thor, a growing boy most definitely looking forward to the evening’s meal after a full day of play, wanted to know _why._ He’d stolen out of his rooms and pressed an ear to his parents’ door, hoping to learn just that.

What he hears though, is enough to make him sick to his stomach.

“Thor is a vain, greedy, _cruel_ little boy. He has always been so! I expect no less from him for this. He will take liberties, Frigga. Take until he has brought shame on us, on me. Rest assured I will keep my _eye_ on him.”

“Oh but you only have the one, dear.”

Food forgotten, Thor balls up fists and gasps, trying to be quiet. But nothing can drown out the hushed voices that buzz together, the one-word shouts. All he can hear now is the contempt that laces his father’s words together so tight and harsh, words that wrap around Thor’s neck and arms and legs until he is curled up into a small ball on the other side of the door. Lost, too young, a knot.

“We will teach him what is expected. He will learn—”

“No. Thor will _unlearn_ what he has already cultivated. He is not a mere babe. He should know better than to lay a hand upon another male in the baths!—” There’s a crash that interrupts Odin’s rage. 

The crash comes again, louder this time. There’s a commotion to be heard just below in the courtyard. 

“HUWARGH!!” Odin bellows in dismay, most likely looking out his window. “What spectacle is this? The animals run amok below!”

“A snake in the stables, perhaps?” Frigga wonders. “I’ll fetch a guard.”

“Thor!” There’s an urgent whisper and Thor lifts his head from his arms, blinking and struggling to breathe through a stuffed runny nose.

And there is Loki, his little brother, eyes bright in the low light of the hallway. His hand is outstretched and Thor flinches when Loki touches his face, a tender thumb wiping at his cheek.

“Brother,” Thor sniffs and Loki shakes his head, puts an index finger to his lips. 

“Shhsh!”

Loki takes Thor’s hand, pulls him up. He tugs and tied by their fingers they’re running down the halls back to their sanctuary. Then they’re laying back against Thor’s bed, out of breath. It is like they’re speaking in pants of air until their hearts calm and the silence settles overtop them. 

Thor swipes at his face with the back of his hand but it feels sticky. He hates to let his brother see him this way, in such a mess. He curls in on himself, facing away from Loki, feels humiliated and stupid. He should have just listened to father, stayed in his room.

“I won’t tell if you don’t.” Loki mutters beside him, shifts, and Thor can feel his small elbow poking into his back.

“What did you do?” Thor grunts, sniffs loudly.

Loki just snickers, “Spooked Father’s horses.”

And Thor grips at the bed furs, thinking about what _he’s_ done.

******

Thor trails along behind his father as they walk through the private gardens. The sun is bright and casts sharp long shadows across the vibrant green grass that reminds Thor of his brother’s eyes. He hangs back, walking in the near crown of Odin’s shadow, wary of how he has been called out alone, Loki nowhere in sight.

He huffs and shoves small hands into pockets.

This is _not_ the way to the vaults. 

He remembers very clearly the previous weeks, when Odin had promised they could visit the treasure vaults on this special day. The anniversary of the day Odin placed the great hammer Mjölnir into his collection. Thor had been so excited, anticipating the visit, so that he may look upon his father’s precious weapons and perhaps even... have one.

It is with a pang of dread which feels foreign to Thor that he realizes he is still to be punished.

For something so _stupid._

He’d thought long and hard about it the night before, about what Odin had shouted about so loudly. But still he could not see the harm in what he’d done. Thor has shared baths with his friends before. They have grown up together, in a fashion. They did not live in the palace as Thor did, but they were Aesir of the royal city, and they were of similar age and passion.

They played together, and Fandral and Volstagg and Hogun weren’t like Loki, who sometimes turned up his nose at Thor’s games. The Warriors Three always wanted to play. Of course, they weren’t real warriors, not yet, but someday they would all go into battle together. Thor relishes in his imagination that carries them so far away, on the adventures that surely wait for them in the future.

So, sharing and touching parts of his good friends is just another curiosity, another adventure, another game. Besides, when he’d reached out and grabbed Fandral’s thing, Fandral had been waving it around, pretending he had a sword because he could make it bigger. The rest of them couldn’t do it, and Fandral was being so annoying! It’s only when Thor had tackled him and curled fingers around the ‘hilt’ that Fandral dropped his stupid act and squealed. 

It was funny. And Thor doesn’t see what’s _wrong_ with that.

Odin’s robe wisps over the crisp grass, sweeping up fat hopping insects that jump around Thor’s feet. A musical bug rasps its high-pitch song in the hedges as they pass, and Thor squints, looking up towards the sun. All too suddenly he has almost trod on his father’s foot, who's stopped and staring across the gentle sloping landscape.

“Thor,” Odin rumbles in his deep voice that Thor once so endeavoured. Now it sends waves of nausea crashing over him, makes him feel weak, wrong. He wants so much to fix it, whatever thing he’s done. But doesn’t know how.

“Thor!” Odin bellows and this time Thor snaps to attention, gulping against the thickness of the warm summer air. 

“Yes, Father.” He mumbles.

“Come here, boy.” Odin commands and Thor trudges to his side, eyes downcast. “I’ve to teach you something, but your mother thinks you too young yet. I think differently and so you are to listen closely to what I have to say.”

The wrinkles by his father’s eyes stand out the most when it’s sunny, like the giant feet of a crow had stamped on his face. Thor focuses on those lines instead of meeting Odin’s grave expression.

“Thor. To lay with men is to bring shame upon the name Odinson.”

“What?” Thor shouts, his stomach knotting violently, confusion rising like bile. “But— I haven’t! I don’t want to lay with _anyone!_ ”

Did he unknowingly lay with Fandral? Is that what it was?

Odin makes an annoyed sound and Thor feels his heart thump up into his throat until he is swallowing as if to force it back down. He has never had his father’s wrath for anything, and it seems so stupid a thing to have it now. But it scares him, that both Odin and Frigga could think this so serious a crime. He must be guilty then, even if he did not feel wrong. 

Odin passes his one eye over Thor then, as though he sees something different than what was previously there. Thor feels momentarily erased, like he has lost some shining innocence, as if some thing that made him special is wiped away.

“In time, you will heed this lesson. There are some truths only adults may know.”

“I...” Thor pauses, feels stuck. “I’m sorry, Father. I will... try to do better.”

Thor has never been compelled to apologize like this before. He hates it, loathes the humiliation and vulnerability it makes him feel. He’s not yet experienced emotions like this so strong and it’s difficult to discern anything past the hurt and betrayal that chokes him. But somehow, somehow, he must be wrong. If his father tells him so, it must be.

Odin does not acknowledge him, only turns on his heel and makes the long trek back up to the palace, leaving Thor behind.

******

They do not speak of it again.

******

Life goes on, by its own means, just as the sun crawls across the bright starry Asgardian sky.

Thor is having riding lessons with his favourite instructor. Dagur, a short man for an Aesir, makes Thor feel more like an adult because when he stands next to Thor, who’s saddled onto his small pony, they are of the same height. He’s got youthful eyes and a kind smile for a warrior, not so comparable to the temperamental boring old tutors Thor is usually burdened with. 

Thor could spend all day with Dagur, just riding around, riding far away from the palace gates, just to waste the day on getting better. It’s an odd little turn his imagination takes but Thor isn’t bothered by it. Sometimes he just thinks about things like that.

“By the nine, Thor! You’ve gotten so much better.” 

Thor grins when he feels the warm pat on the small of his back after the successful lesson, elation swelling inside his chest. He’s proud. Every good warrior needs a horse, and it feels like only yesterday he’d been falling off the back of his steed to land in the mud.

Thor feels excitement thrum in the pit of his stomach and he strokes his pony’s blond mane. 

“Can I ride the adults next?”

“So eager to grow up?” Dagur puts a finger under Thor’s chin, tilts his head, and smiles as though he sees something amusing. Thor’s heart thumps, sends blood rushing through his cheeks. He likes it when he can make accomplished warriors smile.

“If the Allfather thinks it appropriate, of course.”

Thor squints, a sudden sourness springing up and he pushes Dagur’s gentle hand away. The man snorts in amusement and returns to brushing his own horse as Thor slides from the pony’s back. Its bushy tail swats at his thin arm and Thor pushes back short tousled blond hair, toes at a chunk of crusted dirt wedged against the shiny back of one boot. 

The Allfather sits across the way, holding court outside at leisure with advisors that Thor knows only vaguely by number of wrinkles and how old they smell. Thor looks away quickly, realizing Odin had been watching.

******

The next time Thor goes to the stables for lessons he learns that Dagur has been replaced. 

******

The way Odin looks at Thor now is different from before. 

It is this transformation of adoration into something akin to suspicion in Odin’s one-eyed gaze that makes Thor think about the things said behind that closed door. He thinks about the advice given, and how much he wants his father to be wrong instead. _Thor’s_ not wrong. It’s not his fault he didn’t know! And yet still he is punished.

He wants to know why, except Thor doesn’t have much to go on, nothing but the words of his father and the weird unnamed feeling in his gut. He’s going to be better, do things right, even if he doesn’t know what to change. It’s not like he actually wanted to lay with other boys, right? He’d never even thought of it, much preferring to play, to fight. Odin just... He just doesn’t understand how Thor’s imagination works. That it was only a game, and that thing in the baths that happened? It wasn’t _real._

Usually Thor would go straight to his father and ask any questions that troubled him. Now though, he knows the subject to be taboo. There is no one to turn to. Oh, but Thor cannot stand to be _frowned upon!_

He slips into the library one quiet afternoon, heart beating fast at the thought of finding some secret that could help him unlock this painful vice that his father’s disapproval has bestowed. But each empty space between the rows of books is like a guillotine, threatening to chop off his head. Thor’s all but ready to turn around when he finds Loki sitting amongst the stacks, two columns of old disintegrating books built up on either side of his small dark head as he leans against the cases. 

Thor exhales, sends clouds of dust up into air as he plops down next to Loki, poking fun at the many sorcery titles, smiling when his little brother scowled. Soon the confusion and anxiety that cloud his mind part way and everything is okay again.

“What are you here for, Thor?” Loki asks, the question putting a halt to Thor’s teasing as if a hot lump of coal was dropped into his lap.

“I don’t know,” Thor replies honestly. He doesn’t feel wrong, just sitting here.

After that, he doesn’t try to go back. Except when old near-sighted Berger the history tutor feels like going on a field trip.

******

The next time he meets with Fandral, Volstagg and Hogun, things are awkward.

******

It’s nothing that Thor can pin down exactly, but he arrives in the shady green of the park to see the three of them in deep conversation (as deep as it can go, the most serious they’d ever spoken was of whether boar was better tasting than cow). Hogun and Volstagg elbow Fandral sharply and they drop into silence.

Thor feels as though he’s being stared at, picked apart, a puzzle that’s been rearranged. He doesn’t like it. At all.

“What’s wrong with you guys?” He announces in his best princely voice, which is actually just a louder version. “You’re no fun today.”

“Correction, Brother. They’re like that _every_ day.” 

Loki snickers at his own joke and Thor, who’s normally annoyed by Loki’s jibes at his friends, actually feels more righteous. He waits for Loki to fall in step beside him and then they’re storming the Warriors Three fortress.

They play fight long into the evening, until the sky turns into a fiery opal curtain that almost seems to waver in the rare breezes of summer heat. They fight invisible monsters until they can no longer stand and fall to the ground out of breath, a simple defeat by victory. Thor lies on his back in the grass next to his brother, idly picking leaves out of Loki’s hair, who had somehow managed to vanish himself and get stuck up in a tree for one hilarious moment. Loki rolls to the side and Thor smiles at the back of his head, sated.

He looks to the other side and Volstagg is rummaging in his large lunch pouch, looking for more food to snack on. Fandral is lying down too, a piece of too long grass in between his lips. He’s got some leaves in his hair like Loki and when Thor reaches out to pick them, his hand gets slapped away.

“Don’t touch me!” Fandral scoots away, eyeing Thor suspiciously.

Thor stares, uncomprehending. “What? Why did you do that?”

Fandral exchanges a guilty glance with Volstagg, who has found a large loaf of bread and is chewing very, very slowly. The crumbs in the front of his shirt tumble down like pebbles against a lake’s rippling surface, getting lodged at the top curve of his substantial belly.

“You know why!” Fandral announces imperially, as if he somehow knows better than Thor. It makes Thor see red.

“No I don’t!” Thor shouts back.

“Thor,” Comes the imploring voice and he feels Loki grab his arm but shakes it off.

Thor grits his teeth, confused, “What did I _do?_ ”

“Sorry, Thor!” Fandral doesn’t seem very chagrined. “You can’t go around just— _grabbing_ like that, you know?”

All of a sudden Thor feels very embarrassed. “Is this about—” The memory of the Warriors Three halting mid-conversation at the sight of him flashes into Thor’s mind. He bares his teeth. 

“This is _your_ fault, Fandral! You blabbed to your mother about something stupid, and now it’s gotten me into trouble!”

“Well er,” Volstagg is shifty eyed between the two fighting blonds. “Truth be told, Thor, you _are_ a little touchy...”

Thor gapes, “What does that matter?!”

“It’s weird!”

“Whatever,” Hogun interrupts, unconcerned from his upside-down hanging position from a tree branch, “Fandral just told on Thor because his mother was going to lash him for coming home with such a big bruise on his behind.”

Fandral turns red with embarrassment. “It’s not my fault _Thor’s_ mom is a nosey wench!”

Thor growls and tackles him. “Don’t talk about my mother like that! She is your queen!”

Fandral is flailing as they go rolling around. “Hey! That’s not fair! Thor!”

By the time they’re pried apart, Thor’s got blood running from his nostrils and Fandral has two black eyes plus a bad limp. 

Thor’s blood in rushing around in a confusing, excited manner, and he angrily leads his little brother away from the grounds, not bothering to even wipe at the flowing red which stains the collar of his shirt as they stomp away. He doesn’t turn around, doesn’t want to see Volstagg and Hogun taking stupid Fandral’s side. Thor has always known he was different to his friends, but he’d never before been isolated for it, condemned. 

Loki kicks at the backs of Thor’s heels until finally they stop, just behind the golden gates of the palace courtyard. Thor licks at the dried salty blood that coats his lips, flared nostrils burning. Loki sighs and takes his hand. 

Thor doesn’t want it, but Loki holds on.

He’s dragged to the back of the stables. The indigo sky has a soporific effect as they sit amongst the hay. The horses are peaceful, lazily swatting the last of the day’s flies. He hisses when Loki conjures some ice, his best magic spell, and places it upon the crooked tender bridge of his nose.

“He’s just nervous,” Loki says, dabbing gently with his too-long sleeve. “You know how Fandral is. This is his way of lifting himself up.”

“By starting rumours of me?” Thor hisses again.

“By pushing you down.”

“I am not so weak!” Thor grumbles, upset that anyone could think himself felled by a simple rumour.

“You aren’t,” And Loki smiles, just a small thing, looks at Thor with eyes so sincere that Thor melts. 

“You are mighty, Thor.”

But he feels the opposite of strong in the presence of such admiration, because he _needs_ it so much.

He doesn’t like this feeling, that he has no power over how others view him, that they will forever be rearranging him. Mixing him up, seeing something other than what he really is. Especially when Thor doesn’t understand all that he is himself. All he knows is that there is a puzzle piece missing and the longer this goes the little empty space begins to fill up with confusion, guilt, self-loathing. The finished picture is falling away now, bit by bit. 

Maybe that’s just a part of growing up. 

He resolves to keep his hands to himself.

******

It’s still strained and Thor believes he’ll have to find new friends, until the young Lady Sif joins their circle.

******

“What do you think? Pretty cute right?” Fandral says in sotto tones, as if he’s been very clever.

“Yeah,” Volstagg agrees. At first glance of the young blond girl he’d been smoothing his unruly red curls so much that they’ve begun to stick up more, crackling with static. 

Sif walks the edge of the ring, dainty hand trailing overtop the old worn ropes that Hogun’s tying up to mark off the boundary. It’s an old jousting spot, abandoned for the new improved arena made of shining metal stands and gleaming white sand floors farther into the city. This one sat in the outskirts just before the grain fields and the distant swishes of long yellow reeds swaying in the wind sounded like they were right next to the water.

“What is she going to do, just watch?” 

“Sorry I brought her along, but she wouldn’t go anywhere else with me for a date. A maiden into fighting, who would have thought!”

Thor scowls, leaning back against the old wooden fence. He splits a long blade of the grain with the edge of his thumbnail. The dry furry bits at the end break off and go flying into the air. It’s not that he doesn’t like girls, only that they’re almost always never interested in the same things as him. They just weren’t as exciting, as boys and men and warriors were.

Lounging beside him, Loki seems to agree with this sentiment, though doesn’t agree to having grain sprinkled in his hair. Thor absentmindedly flicks the bits off Loki’s head, pausing after the fourth, wondering uncertainly if he shouldn’t. 

Loki makes a noise of discontentment when he stops though, and Thor continues, dropping the rest of the dried fluff just so his can run his fingers roughly into Loki’s head and make him cry out. No one bothers with him, they’re too busy making eyes at Sif. She ignores them all in favour of inspecting their small collection of weapons spread out on a greasy blanket.

“Alright!” Sif declares, holding up a huge spear. “Fandral, come along. Let’s begin!”

“W-What? Uh, I don’t think this is the way wooing is supposed to go...” 

“Nonsense, perhaps she _wants_ you to _win._ ” Volstagg whispers with a knowing look, as if he’s not pretending to know more than he does. 

The boys cajole Fandral with hasty sharp elbows until the blond boy is looking helplessly confused in the middle of the ring. As Sif proceeds to beat the tar out of her opponent, Thor grins. Alright, so maybe there’s one girl he doesn’t mind.

******

Odin and Frigga like her too.

******

“Are you sure you’re not eloping?” Frigga asks for the millionth time, driving Thor crazy.

“ _No_ , mother!”

It’s been years and years now that Thor, Loki, the Warriors Three and Lady Sif have been friends. And finally, _finally,_ they are going on an adventure. A real journey to prove themselves not still children. Of course, every adult Thor knows thinks him not yet grown either, but once he came back victorious, they’d see.

“That’s not what I’ve heard,” Comes his mother’s singsong voice again.

Thor sighs loudly, busies himself by stuffing a few more furs inside his travel bag. His chambers are a disaster, torn apart in search of his lucky dagger, lucky water pouch, lucky tunic. In search of _everything._ He’s afraid he’s going to forget something important with all this needless needling.

“Nooo.” He drags out, kicking a table out of the way. It goes skidding across the stone floors to crash against the wall which in turn upends a few trinkets from the shelves. Blast it.

“Well pardon my curiosity,” She titters, an amused look upon her face as she comes around, sparkling robes tinkling as she walks, “And mind your strength.”

“Mother, you are curious over the silliest things. Sif is my friend.” Thor says with great authority, hoping desperately it doesn’t come off as whining.

It’s not the first time people have assumed he and Sif are something of an item, as if they got up to more than just sparring and attending the same feasts. Maybe even Thor himself would have thought so, if he didn’t know how sceptical he’d been about accepting her into their circle of friends. He and Sif are so similar though, it was more difficult to push her away than to become close.

“ _Just_ my friend.”

Frigga leans an elegant hip against the bed frame, crossing her arms and cocking her head. “Usually young girls are not wont to go gallivanting all the way to _Alfheim_ unless they plan to be married soon after. And who out of your band of boys is the most eligible?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Thor rolls his eyes. “Loki?”

Frigga raises an eyebrow at the sudden bite in Thor’s voice. But it’s only the truth. 

Loki is the most cunning of the group. Somehow over the years this has leant great confidence to Thor’s younger brother. Loki is a skilled talker. He can talk to anyone and get them to do what he wants. Hogun always muttered about manipulation, but Thor couldn’t agree. It wasn’t Loki’s fault that he was so naturally gifted with this charming quality. It wasn’t Loki’s fault so many maidens took to his word like buzzing bees, sticking to something sweet.

Thor’s jealous, actually. In a distant, respectfully begrudging kind of way. And while he’s always been the strongest, the first born, Thor knows that his parents respect Loki’s intelligence, his regal demeanour, his tongue. Loki has all the makings of a man who will get what he wants, one day, and it seems to line up with their parents’ wishes. 

The thing about this jealousy though, is that Thor doesn’t know what _he_ wants. So it doesn’t make sense really, to be jealous at all.


	2. Chapter 2

They travel far from the golden gates of Asgard’s royal city. Thor tries not to look back as the rest of his friends do, watch the palace’s tallest spire as it disappears from view. He spurs his horse on forwards, head held high, because this is all that he’s ever wanted and _he’s_ in charge. 

The endless shimmering of the rainbow bridge which turns the sky into a prism slowly fades away. 

The people of the villages are different than in the city. The farther Thor and his comrades journey, the more people change. Sometimes they are poorer, sometimes hairier. For a band of adolescents grown up under the protective cusp of Odin’s prosperous rule, it’s a strange thing to see just how different adults can turn out to be.

Thor likes it.

He enjoys this freedom and often is the first to bombard strangers with questions, a bright smile splitting his lips, floating along atop a carefree happiness that makes the lengthy travel time speed by. He likes this wandering from all he’s ever known, discovering the paths unknown. It’s a chance to carve out a little piece of himself in places no one else would see. 

Vaguely, he knows Heimdall watches them for safety, but it’s the thought that counts. Here he can be different because they _all_ are when compared to the odd melting pot of people that simmers with as much fervour as life back home.

Alfheim is the metropolitan region of Asgard known for its native Light Elves. Not yet ready to permit use of the Bifrost, Odin allowed the group of eager young warriors to venture to this place in search of adventure, and maybe even a Bilgesnipe to fell. 

Every so often the group of travelling Aesir spot an Elf. They are tall and graceful with long limbs, and interspersed with the less impressive smatterings of Aesir and Dwarves they are a sight to behold. Breathtaking in their strange beauty.

But there are more new discoveries to be made yet and each twist and turn yields wildlife that has never tracked into the shining streets of Royal Asgard, fauna that explode across the countryside in colours that rival the Bifrost. Volstagg swears he even sees a troll swimming in the lake as they ride past, but it was unanimously assumed he’d merely seen his reflection. 

Over the past summer the rotund warrior had sprouted an impressive curly beard that nearly touched the apple of his throat. Volstagg paid them no mind however, as he thought his locks were more than fetching.

It is when they reach the city that the travelling group leave their camping equipment packed, horses tied, and check into a tavern.

“Oh, but we’re real men now!” Thor grins, has that deep compelling urge to thump someone, and luckily Loki’s just within reach.

“Ow,” Loki deadpans, but does not put a stop to Thor’s good mood. 

“I resent that remark,” Sif sniffs in an attempt to appear lofty but ends up coughing on the thick smoky air that presses against them from all sides upon entering the establishment. Thor laughs good-naturedly at her and she waves a menacing fist at him in front of her watery eyes. If the city is busy then the tavern is more so, packed to the brim with all sorts of vagabonds. 

Men with large fur pelts and weapons slung on the backs of their chairs litter the dining hall, and the walls are covered with the mounted heads of prize animals that stare back lifelessly. Women with low cut gowns of flimsy make flutter around, some dancing with their partners, others holding numerous canteens of mead high upon wooden platters.

They’re just finding a seat when music strikes up.

“I might at last have my chance,” Fandral croons happily, combing back short coiffed hair.

“At what?” Sif snorts, “You’ve hardly looked up from your mirror all night.”

“Dear Sif, you must take your rest from watching me for just a moment, lest you become jealous.” Fandral smiles and shoots her a wink. “Or do become jealous, I would not mind.”

Sif rolls her eyes as he sashays away, out into the crowd of dancers. “Please.”

Thor chuckles and kicks out the free chair to his left when Loki returns to the table, a half dozen tankards and a pitcher of something frothy and golden fizzing away on a tray.

Volstagg gasps and grabs one metallic mug with a sound of loud glee before Loki’s even sat down.

“Do thank me,” Loki smirks as he sets the fare on the greasy table with a clank. “I managed to appropriate us a bit of fun.”

They all help themselves, excited to celebrate the journey with a very warrior-like pastime. In years to come it will become the norm after all, they will be together for near ever, until Thor is to become crowned and drinking in overstuffed taverns become a hazy well-loved memory of the past. 

Hogun crosses his arms and stoutly refuses a helping of the beverage.

“Come now, Hogun,” Thor crows, “Loki did us a favour, it’s rude not to accept. Besides, now we can all experience mead, together!”

“How about magicking up some food too?” Volstagg blubs around his large gulps of mead loudly.

“Pace yourself, Volstagg!” Sif complains even as she chugs her drink too.

Thor shrugs and holds his tankard aloft, watching the froth creep down the side in tumultuous little clouds. Loki knocks mugs with a chink and clunk. 

“To our brave indomitable leader, Thor.” Loki smiles, that half-smile, the one where it’s obvious he’s in between making a joke at Thor’s expense and genuinely admiring. But Thor has been privy to his brother’s looks all his life and knows them inside and out. This one is not something to doubt at all. It is just another star in the sky; the universe of Loki’s brightness.

Thor presses his lips together, feels his eyes squint with an answering grin.

“Cheers!”

*******

Male Light Elves are known to cast spells of allurement with merely a look in their eyes.

It is as the gossip says, many women that pass through Alfheim are those who are soon to be wed, looking for a bit of deviance before the duties of married life take hold. Overcome by the enchantments, many find themselves ensnared by Elven men. It is a fantasy, a last bit of wild imagination to be whisked away on until reality pins them down. And far be it any good Aesir go without a little adventure.

Apparently the fun-seekers become so adsorbed in the Elves that they do not realize their desires are transposed from them, as inhibition is ripped from a warrior after every gulp of ale he drinks.

This crumb of information breaks away at the odd little jump in Thor’s stomach when he is approached by one such Elf. But most knowledge tumbles from his mind, when in the heat of a moment.

“You sit alone.” The tall, very tall, man says. His shoulders are draped in a sheer fabric that shimmers in the low light, shoulder length dark hair catching on its woven texture. “There are no more free tables, may I join?”

Thor laughs suddenly, slapping a hand onto the table.

“Of course! Sit good friend, there is plenty of space to share.”

The man sits, looking out into the smoky crowded hall. The music plays on strong, but Thor can’t make out the faces. They all bleed into a blur because he’s looking into the Elf’s eyes. Black, they are, which is strange in itself. It’s a deep absence of colour, blacker than the night sky, perhaps blacker even still than the space between stars. It sucks Thor in a little, just a little, until he is searching for light.

He squints. There’s a spark there, in the dark.

“What is your name?” The Elf asks, impassive face transforming into one of gentle amusement as he folds impossibly long arms across the tabletop. The ever-dancing shadows of torchlight fall across his face in shades of lavender and blue, illuminating his skin like the moon of some distant world.

“I am Thor, Prince of Asgard.” Thor boasts loudly, belatedly knowing that it is probably not wise to tote his lineage in such a place but not caring in the least. 

“A Prince.” This is murmured. Thor shakes his head, realizing the only reason he can hear this over the boisterous music is because Thor is leaning in close.

Thor belches thunderously and then he hiccups and covers his mouth. 

The Elf’s lips part in a smirk that is definitely full of laughter and for some reason Thor can feel himself blushing, cheeks aflame. All of a sudden he feels too small, too lost, too warm.

 _This is the effect of the mead_ , Thor thinks blithely, nearly ready to scoff away the uncertainty. But there is no one around to shout to on his amazement at this simple flowing drink. His tablemates have wandered off, sampling of the nightlife the tavern has to offer. 

Perhaps Thor is drunk on freedom but he knows not of any limit freedom can hit.

Thor leans back, pushing away the near empty tankard. He’d only had three, surely that wasn’t enough to addle his mind.

A set of pale fingers softly curl around his forearm.

“Young Prince, you are well.”

This makes no sense to Thor. He feels decidedly unwell. Confused, and if he’s ready to admit it, even a bit touch starved. The point of contact is like the hot sear of an unforged sword, cutting into him with its heat. It’s with a removed sense he knows he shouldn’t be reacting this way. Not only is it troubling, but Thor has no idea how to fight this invisible foe. He thinks of falling over to the ground, breathless from fighting something he can’t see, black eyes hovering over top.

Thor blinks rapidly, realizing his heart is beating much too fast. 

He must be enchanted, somehow. But it’s not supposed to work on boys.

It’s not supposed to work on Thor.

“Oh, and who might you be?” Volstagg interrupts, dropping a heaping pile of meats and sweet bread at his seat. One roll escapes and goes down the table length before dropping off the edge.

The Elf man pats Thor’s arm twice, a kind gesture, before the chair scrapes back and he is gone.

*******

A storm passes through the night and when they wake the next morning it is discovered half their supplies and one horse have been stolen.

*******

The remaining five horses clomp onwards deep into the forest. It’s hunting season in Alfheim now and the group does not plan to return home before making some impressive kills. It’s necessary, if they want to trade in meat or trophy heads for another horse.

“I don’t see why that farmer would not sell us his steed! Not even to the sons of Odin!” Thor is still steaming over this offense. 

“The man probably only has the one horse to sow his seeds, of course he would not give it to us.” Loki rolls his eyes and Thor tsks. 

“I hear they fetch a good price for unicorns around here...” Sif suggests happily.

“I am not riding a _unicorn._ ” Fandral complains and then wipes at his sweating brow. “Volstagg, disembark that horse immediately, it is your turn to walk!”

“And he could very well use it,” Hogun mutters under his breath.

“My girth is none of your concern! Unless you mean my very handsome endowment. Then all may know if I were to unsaddle I would still have a horse’s parts between my legs.” But Volstagg does slide to the ground, bending from side to side to get the kinks out of his spine.

“Ugh, yes.” Sif is used to hearing bawdy commentary, she spends most of her time with boys after all, but she never misses an opportunity to strike with sarcasm. “Then someone ought to ride you.”

There is a moment before they all burst into laughter at Volstagg’s red face.

They travel amiably until Thor’s stomach growls so loudly Hogun unsheathes his sword, wondering what beast had stalked them. Thor feels a bit sheepish, but knows he is still yet growing. The time that has passed is evident by the length of his golden hair which has begun to cover his red-tipped ears. 

It’s more difficult to make a comfortable camp with the remaining equipment spared in the theft, but young Aesir warriors are remarkably resilient, and stubborn.

It is only after Loki casts a spell to produce fire when they stop shivering in the cold night air.

“You could have let me do that before,” Loki mocks, completely smug. 

“Yes, but then who would cuddle you?” Thor laughs elbowing his brother in the ribs and scooting back from his press to Loki’s warm side. The fired air passes through the space between them.

Loki turns to Thor, the orange firelight playing off his features in a strange soundless tune. “Not my fault I don’t fall prey to the cold so quickly.”

The rest of them harrumph and Hogun finally manages to get Volstagg to stop using his cape as a blanket. While it’s still attached.

When it comes time to sleep they are exhausted from telling enthusiastic jokes and stories, so it takes Thor a moment to properly understand what’s just been said.

“We’ve only the three tents left. Well, what do you say, Loki?” It is Volstagg who asks this, already gathering up his furs for bed.

Loki does not bother to hide his surprise, and neither does Thor. It is not that the Warriors Three do not like Loki, only the fact that Loki does not like _them_. He has made it no secret, ever since they were young. He found them dull, he’d said to Thor one day, when it was just the two of them talking a walk behind their parents on the Bifrost. _They are so vexing, Thor. Why do you even bother when we have each other?_

 _I’m not gonna replace you,_ Thor had said, feeling full of determination to make Loki see. _But we’re to be Kings one day, and every King needs friends._

 _In high places,_ Loki had finished, but neither of them knew so well the meaning of that phrase.

_Then let’s hope they grow very tall._

Thor feels somehow a little betrayed then, when Loki acquiesces.

“If you snore, so help me...” Loki threatens even as Volstagg gives a hearty laugh.

“I will share with you Fandral.” Hogun pats the seat of his pants as he gets up, dusting soft soil and foliage from his hands. 

“Excellent idea!” Fandral replies, turns to Thor and waggles one eyebrow.

Thor watches the other boys track off, watches as Loki looks back over his shoulder at Thor. His green eyes cut between Thor and Sif and then Loki turns away with a shrug.

“Do you not find it odd?” Sif asks quietly, when they lay down together in the last tent. Her breath is visible in the air, resembling the long curling tendrils of blond hair that fans out underneath her head. Her chin tucks down, nearly touching her collarbone. “That they should want you and I together?”

“I think none of it,” Thor gripes. “It is they who do not want me.”

“Is that how you see it?” Sif looks at him then, curiously searching his face with and then, smirks. “How _vain_ , Thor.”

“Of course!” Thor agrees, knowing he sounds arrogant. Doesn’t care. He is arrogant in this, because he doesn’t understand why he can be so easily rejected.

The familiar easy humour of the earlier conversation threads its way into even this as Sif snorts. “We must switch places then, so you can see how blessedly annoying it is. Should they _want_ you in the way they do me you’d beg to change back.”

“I would not complain.”

“No, only introduce them to your fist!” Sif laughs and then slaps his arm. Thor grins, the melancholy mood evaporating from him like each of his ghostly breaths. He tentatively reaches out and pokes Sif on the side of the head. She seems deeply amused by the clumsy affection, but does not stop him.

“Thor,” She says just a bit unsurely, the laughter in her voice is a flame that blows out. “You know what they say, don’t you? About us?”

He grows still, feels vaguely nervous. “Uh, yes, I do.”

“You don’t want that, do you?”

 _I don’t want to lay with anyone_ , Thor thinks.

“Sif, you must know. I don’t have... Don’t have _designs_ on you. You are my friend, Sif, and a warrior. Same as any other.”

“Oh,” She blinks, eyes shining in the dark. And then she smiles back reassuringly, looking girlish for just that brief moment. “Good, because I was this close to introducing your jewels to my knee.”

*******

“Psst!”

Loki pushes himself up sleepily, elbow nearly giving out underneath him in the slippery soft bedding of the tent. Thor holds in a snicker at his brother’s dishevelled appearance. Beside him, the large lumps of furs that make up Volstagg erupt in a loud growling snore.

“Thor?” Loki asks, blinking against the moonlight that streams into his face. Thor nods quickly, gesturing with a cupped hand for Loki to follow.

“I wish to hunt a Bilgesnipe!” Thor whispers as soon as Loki has crawled out of the tent, rubbing at tired eyes.

Loki stares at him for a moment. There’s the faint scent of smoke in the breeze, as their fire has died down considerably, leaving behind charred branches. With a wave of his hand, Loki replenishes his spell and the fire crackles back to life, loud and wondrous. Thor tosses on a few more logs of wood but does not sit.

Thor’s full of nervous excited energy. There might be something in the air, maybe a smell of impending rain. Or maybe he is merely dreaming, because he feels too awake. He’d laid in his bedding until the soft snoring of Sif pushed him outside, made him peak inside his brother’s tent in seek of more adventure.

“Ugh, Thor, no. Tell me you’re joking.”

“I am not.”

“They are repulsive creatures.” Loki turns up his nose as if he can smell the offensive beast nearby. “Huge and scaly and trampling everything in their path.”

Truthfully, Thor did not know much of the Bilgesnipe except for that they were very large and dangerous, and that their antlers fetched a handsome price. He takes Loki’s word for it, however, no one Thor knows reads as much as his brother.

“That is why we will not shed tears when it is slain.”

“Shed blood is more like it.” 

“The beast’s blood!”

“ _Ours._ ”

Thor has the urge to stick out his tongue. So he does. Loki does not look impressed. Sticks his tongue out too. This has Thor grinning, heart soaring somewhere far away, only tethered by the feeling of his feet planted on solid ground. 

Loki scoffs and comes close to drape Thor in a fur pelt, wraps it around his shoulders.

“If you insist on standing out here you will need this.” His green eyes are sea coloured in the night, and then Loki looks down, fingers curling into the soft warmth of fur’s edges. “It’s going to storm again. Perhaps that is why you are so restless.”

Thor can’t help it, drops a kiss to the crown of Loki’s bowed head. He can’t thank his little brother enough for always watching out for him. 

“Come along, we’ll go find some small game then. This is the best time to hunt, you know that.” 

“ _Thor_ ,” Loki complains, rubbing at his forehead but does not back away. Thor folds them both into the pelt and it’s a deliciously comforting cocoon of heat, as if they’re back home. He leans his cheek upon Loki’s head, the soft black strands of hair tickling his jaw and Thor can feel the vibration when Loki speaks.

“The two of us can fell any monster that comes before us. In the _morning_.” Then Loki gets this strange tone in his voice, one that Thor can’t readily place. “Besides, why do you need _me?”_

He supposes Loki means for him to wake one of the others, to think of their skills before Loki’s own. But how can he? It’s for this reason why Thor had dragged Loki on this adventure in the first place. 

Because Loki definitely hadn’t wanted to come. Thor had pleaded, annoyed, persisted loudly all over the palace before Loki finally gave in. He’s here because Thor asked. Because he knew somehow, that Thor needed him. For him to question that even now just makes Thor try harder.

“Do your big brother a favour.” He pinches Loki’s cheek and Loki groans.

They take one horse, unwilling to wake and untie another when they could share just as well. Thor rides them out towards a boggy den passed by earlier. Seemed as good as any a place for monsters to dwell.

But Thor never did get to hunt that night. 

They ride in silence for so long that the light touch of his brother’s hands on his hips becomes heavy when Loki slumps against him and Thor realizes he’s fallen asleep. For a moment he enjoys the purity of it, the press of Loki’s chest along his back, pointy nose digging in. It’s simple, this thing. So trusting, that Loki can give up the usual wariness, the usual snark. Just let Thor take care and drift away. It didn’t matter where they were. Anywhere was good, because when they’re together, it’s safe.

Loki shifts and his arms band around Thor’s middle in a firmer embrace.

Thor doesn’t mind the change in plans.

*******

The next night, Thor firmly clamps a hand on Loki’s shoulder and steers him towards a tent. Let the others worry about their sleeping arrangements. He and Loki have to be up all night, there’re monsters to fight.

And so it goes for every day after that, until it’s time to go home.

*******

When he sets foot back onto the golden streets of Asgard, Thor is no longer a boy.

He is a man. And he is so _proud._ Proud of the successful journey and all the sights they’ve seen. He and his friends have learned so many things not found inside the golden city. They are worldlier now, and there are so many more worlds to discover. Over the course of this great adventure, the last thing on their minds was growing up, but somehow they did it.

Thor is riding a handsome white mare and when he slips from his saddle in the courtyard, Frigga runs an admiring hand over the animal’s neck.

“She is beautiful.”

“Spoils of victory,” Thor explains, immediately launching into the Bilgesnipe slaying tale.

They are bedraggled and dirt-covered from the journey, a thick coating to rival the layers of knowledge they’ve gained. Frigga sends them off to the baths anyway, to rinse it all down the drain. They are scrubbed fresh and pink, dressed in soft clean garments when they meet the Allfather for supper.

Odin listens over the meal, not quite as excited as Thor to talk with his mouth full, but asking him a question here and there.

Thor stretches his arms and then takes the tie out of his wet hair. The long golden locks fall to stick to his face and neck, curling just before sweeping across shoulders. Thor combs fingers through it, pleased by the clean sensation.

“Thor,” Frigga says looking slightly reproachful at the states of the split ends. “Your hair has gotten so long!”

“Keeps my ears warm.” He grins back, so happy. 

“Do the Elves of Alfheim like that? I wonder.”

Odin’s unassuming scorn is like a dagger being thrown straight through the bullseye of a target. Thor freezes.

“Nonsense,” Frigga says. “Why, back in the day, _your_ hair—”

“Did not crown a waif’s body!” Odin’s hand slams against the table, rattling dishes and tankards. “Look at him! Glittering eyes and fair skin. He is like a maiden. He is like his friend, that girl!”

Underneath the table, Thor feels Loki put a hand on his arm.

It is too much. 

“You know not what you say!” Thor shouts, storming to his feet. 

“Oh?” Odin pays no mind to Thor’s outburst, in fact he seems delighted by it. An opportunity to turn silent condescension into a lesson. He’s leaning forward now in his seat. 

“If you have any respect for the throne, you would cease what I have commanded you cease before! You think you could not be seen? Heimdall’s eyes stretch where mine does not.”

Frigga and Loki are staring between the two of them, eyes shifting quickly from side to side.

Thor’s mouth falls open. “But I—I didn’t, I have not...”

There are so many things that Thor wishes to shout, to scream, that it all gets stuck in his throat. He can’t even swallow, the feeling of suffocation is too strong. He feels sick, sick guilt that Odin would say this in front of his mother, _his brother._ It makes Thor’s heart sink. His good mood forged from the journey’s success drifts away like thick clouds, leaving behind something stark and cold, not even a hopeful flicker of a star too far away to reach for. Lobotomized skies.

“You’re a fool!” Thor says, of all the things.

Odin turns away and throws his napkin to floor, then sweeps his arm and plates go flying into the stone. It is as if he cannot bear to look upon Thor without seeing something unworthy. And no matter how much he says he loves Thor, he obviously cannot forgive this one thing. Won’t bring Thor out of the dark hole he’s been cast down. Expects Thor to do it himself.

But Thor can’t, he can’t. Because he doesn’t know _what to do._ He hasn’t _done anything._

And too late Thor knows that guilt is the price paid for doing something one knows they are going to do anyway. Knows his guilt comes from some place deep inside, unexplored, but exists all the same. The fact that it’s there is more than enough to cultivate more guilt, until it is spinning inside him, ripping at the walls inside his chest, stomach, head. 

“RWARGH!” Thor bellows. It takes flipping the table to make it go away.

*******

“I would be alone right now.”

Thor does not even bother to move from his sulk, face first in the bedding. 

“If I were not here, you might.” Loki replies, sits gingerly beside Thor.

It’s Loki who tugs at a lock of hair, gently twisting the strands in his fingers. Each twist is a matching twist to Thor’s stomach, tying it up in knots. He waits to be laughed at, teased. Or worse, asked the truth. He does not think that he can lie about something he does not know the truth of.

“Is there something wrong with me?” Loki asks after a moment, “Am I different than I should be?”

“What?” The questions are so bizarre that Thor rolls, looking up at his brother’s impassive face with great confusion.

“Father barely acknowledged me today. Didn’t inquire after my thoughts at all. Even before he lost his head. You two are a lot alike you know.” Loki smirks humourlessly at this and it is an expression that Thor could do without.

“Sometimes I wonder where I fit in.”

“Brother,” He sits up, cups Loki’s jaw. He wishes to use his thumb to stretch at the corner of Loki’s mouth, stretch out a real smile. Loki leans into his touch so Thor does just so.

“You have nothing to worry about.”

It is him who is different, Thor wants to say. Different in not a good way, but says instead, “If you were so estranged from me, I would not care. I’d love you just the same.”

“Then you know how I think of you.”

Oh, but Loki is a wily one. Thor has to chuckle at that, put his bad mood behind him in the face of Loki’s trick. It’s not every day that Loki uses his charming tongue on Thor.

Thor sits there, idly stroking a thumb over Loki’s bent knee as he ties a few braids into Thor’s long hair. 

“There,” Loki finishes, giving one thin braid a tug. It’s like pulling on the rope of a bell, because Thor’s ears begin to ring with rushing blood. He feels embarrassed, but comforted. Put back together into something normal.

“It’s good like this, I think. Don’t fret, Thor.” And Loki takes Thor’s hand from his knee, holds it for just a second before placing it on the bedding.

“You’ll grow into it.”

We all grow into things, eventually. It’s just that Thor wishes he could grow out of this— Grow out of doing whatever this _thing_ is, the thing he can’t see which makes him feel so guilty.

*******

It is after this when Loki cuts off all Sif’s hair and turns it black.


	3. Chapter 3

“Remember the time he let a horde of spiders into the banquet hall?” 

Volstagg shudders violently at Fandral’s fiendish question and the boat rocks precariously, fishing lines twitching in the water. Thor shifts to rebalance so that they do not capsize. Fandral and Hogun sit in another boat, just a few strokes away with their own lines cast out in the opposite direction.

“All of that precious food. Covered in spider blood after the Allfather had to blow them up! It was a detestable act!”

Fandral grins across the divide, “Though getting to see Gungnir in action—”

“Aye, that _was_ brilliant.”

“And the time he magicked all your mirrors to only reflect a Frost Giant.” Hogun puts in, elbowing Fandral in the side.

The blond man shudders just as Volstagg did, shaking his head as if to rid himself of the memory. “I looked monstrous!”

Thor ignores the conversation of his friends to cast another line. The hook goes sailing out into the far side of the lake and gets tangled in the long grass. Thor grunts and wiggles the line, tugging on it in hopes of dislodging it.

It has put a sour taste in his mouth, his friends’ words, as they banter back and forth. He’d much rather focus on the potential victory in fishing. Hogun had spent all morning teaching them and it seemed like such a waste to worry about petty squabbles when there’s still dinner to be had.

Still, there is a rift.

The bond between Loki and the Warriors Three has always been weak. Now with the latest trick against Sif, it seems like the circle of friends may even be destined to crumble, and take down with it a whole bridge. Thor finds himself stranded on the last threads that tie together either side, at a loss on how to mend the gap. 

Thor would not speak so plainly with the Warriors Three about his feelings on the matter. Sentiment such as that is something only family can endure. And Thor is Odinson. He knows better now, on what he must and must not do. But he doesn’t have the skills to talk them around like Loki could, if Loki _would_ , that is. Thor doesn’t completely understand it, why Loki won’t bother, but envies Loki’s ability all the more. 

Somewhere along the line, his brother had managed to make a talent and power out of charming others, leaving Thor to keep his tongue stuffed thickly inside his mouth. He’s angry at Loki, actually. Truly incensed. Because Loki doesn’t seem to mind this rift, this tear that separates him from the others, and has taken to _ignoring_ Thor just the same.

So it’s no wonder that even if Thor has a different opinion, he won’t admit it. Especially in the face of such a unanimous front. Thor smiles the mockery of his peers away, laughing in remembrance of Loki’s more infamous tricks. It’s easier this way. It’s all he can really do, knows how to, right now.

Volstagg pulls his line from the lake and is rewarded with a clump of mud and grass. He sighs, “Thor, sometimes I don’t know how you can stand him!”

“He is my brother. And some of his jokes are actually funny.” Thor says simply, waggling the long reed of the fishing pole into the shallow waters and closing his eyes to the pleasant sun. “Remember when he entered Hogun in that competition of dance?”

“This time he has gone too far,” Hogun comments gravely, choosing to ignore that faithful day.

“Oh my, but you did win first prize!” Volstagg crows with laughter and the dance champion bristles at this jibe.

“Why don’t we ever try to get back at him?” Fandral brightens, “We can trick the trickster!”

“There’s the little problem of outsmarting him.” Hogun says as he reels in his line to put more bait on the hook.

“Honestly,” Fandral sighs, exasperated. “Doesn’t he deserve to be taught a lesson now and then too?”

“His little tricks usually get him reprimanded by the Allfather, in the end.”

But this is not something that Odin can fix. Sif is stricken about her hair and refuses to return to sparring with Thor and the Warriors Three. Thor had even visited her home multiple times, standing outside her window, trying to apologize on Loki’s behalf. But Sif would not reveal herself, rebuffed him every time. Thor began to despair and belatedly he realized that he _must_ be beyond vain, to not notice that despite Sif’s rough exterior she took pride and joy in her femininity.

_Ask him his reason!_ Sif had shouted from the safety of her room. _I wouldn’t mind terribly understanding his twisted mind!_

Thor feels vaguely uneasy about it though. He’s not sure he wants to know.

“Take care how you speak of a future King of Asgard,” Is all Thor adds to the conversation. He clamps his rod tightly between his knees and leans back against the side of the boat. The insides of his eyelids are a bright red against the sun and idly he begins twisting the frayed end of a braid in his hair between two fingers. 

Volstagg tilts his head in obvious confusion. Thor can tell this is so because of the large shadow the redhead casts on him as he moves in front of the light.

“But you are the next in line, Thor. No need to defend him.”

“Yes,” Hogun mutters with that stony voice that Thor knows all too well. “One of these days he’s going to do something, something bad, to _you._ ”

Thor opens his eyes to see his three friends, staring at him as if they want to make him see the error of his ways. As if they expect him to hate Loki the most, for messing with Sif. 

But they don’t know. Don’t know how wrong Thor already is. That he has already done the worst thing to himself by just _being_ himself and now there’s nothing he can do to fix it. All he can do is stay silent.

“Get an apology from him at least,” Fandral reminds him. “For Sif’s sake.”

*******

“Why did you do it?”

Thor hops over the low gates to the practice arena, boots kicking up clouds of the red dusty soil. Loki pays him no mind as he stalks closer and it is this indifference which sends a deep wave of annoyance through Thor. 

He hates being ignored. It’s a more effective method to incense him than the generous lathering of righteousness on Sif’s behalf the Warriors Three had worked into him beforehand. This only serves his purpose, and Thor is across the grounds in a heartbeat, fists clenched at his sides.

“Do what?” Loki asks carelessly. He picks up another throwing dagger, twirling it idly in hand. 

Thor grimaces, scowls at the target set up down the lane. There are several daggers of various sizes lodged in and around the packed dummy. A tiny trail of sand flows from its lumpy leg like an hourglass spilling down the grains of life.

“Don’t bother lying,” Thor mutters, taking up a dagger from the neatly arranged pile. He stares at the shiny blade. “I know it was you who did that to Sif.”

“I think it’s an improvement,” Loki says, and it’s as good as a confession but not one, not really, when Loki looks up with balefully lidded eyes before throwing a dagger at the target. The blade imbeds itself in the wooden plank the dummy hangs from and Loki makes an annoyed sound under his breath.

“The Warriors Three have taken to speaking ill of you, because of this.”

“Because of this,” Loki echoes, throwing another dagger which lands just wide of the dummy’s head. “You’re not very observant, are you Thor?”

Thor bristles at this and tosses his own dagger. It goes speeding through the air and slices through the glass button sewn on to simulate a foe’s eye. Loki shoots him a glare and Thor feels better for it.

“Here, your wrist.” Thor takes Loki by the hand, twisting it into a better grip. “Like cracking a whip, okay?”

Loki allows this, mouth quirked just a bit in something that looks a lot like amusement. Thor staunchly ignores that, scowling at the evidence that even when he’s angry with Loki he can’t help but be a big brother. Seems like Loki knows this too, all the same.

Loki throws. The shining dagger goes straight through the second eye. Thor feels pride overtake his bad mood.

“I didn’t see you use this technique. You just employed brute strength!” Loki complains to cover up his grin of triumph.

“Which I have in spades,” Thor replies smugly but Loki pokes his arm. 

“Doesn’t look like it.”

“I’m still growing,” Thor protests. Gives Loki a little shove. It’s not as thin as it used to be, he’s filled out a lot, but not yet enough.

They end up using all of the daggers to try and spell out their names in the weapon shed’s wooden walls. It’s a silly thing to do, but when he’s with his brother it’s just too easy to revert into this kind of game. They’re children still, when they’re together. He’s happy to let all the sand run out.

Thor knows he should be waiting for an explanation, an apology, or words of regret. Anything, to take back to Sif as a peace offering so that they can all be friends again. But Thor’s not the patient sort, and he forgets about these types of things in the face of simple pleasures. By the time they are finished, _THOR_ and _LOKI_ is etched into the shed by puncture holes.

It’s times like these Thor feels the most at home, free. 

“You’ve grown to like that girl more than me.” Loki rolls his eyes, panting for breath as they stare up into the sky. “If you like her so much, I suppose I can help her grow it back.”

Thor uses the last of the gathered daggers to tap the dirt off the soles of his boots before tossing it back into the pile. He slumps down next to Loki, upsetting dust into the air. It floats up in soft plumes, decorating the golden sky with red glitter that quickly falls away. 

“That is what Sif would prefer, I think. But Loki, I don’t like anyone more than you. You are my Brother!”

Loki doesn’t reply for a long moment and it’s just the sear of the setting sun against their skin that fills his ears.

“Swear it,” Loki mutters finally, and then sits up, looking Thor in the eyes. “Swear to me.”

“I do swear it,” Thor frowns.

“No, words can change.” Loki bites his lip then looks around before reaching for one of the daggers. He quickly drags it over his palm, cutting the flesh.

“ _Loki,_ ” Thor admonishes, but takes the dagger determinedly thrust at him and mirrors the action without hesitation. The fresh cut burns, as if a sliver of the coldest ice has pried apart his skin. Loki grips Thor’s hand tightly and he feels the strong pulse of his brother’s beating heart in the palm of his hand.

“I swear, Loki. I will never love another as I do you.”

“And I you.” Loki looks down and then when their eyes meet once more, there is a fierce shine in his green gaze that makes everything else dull. 

“I did it for you, Thor.”

Thor’s mouth falls open with a slight gasp. This is the only time Loki has ever said word on what their father scorns him for, and the sudden mention is like another slice to Thor’s skin. 

“You didn’t have to,” Thor whispers, angry and ashamed and filled with love all at once. 

Thor feels the burn of tears in his eyes, the hard ground under his knees, their hands knotted in tight grips. They are both blank-faced, staring at the other. Because the slices on their palms are wide enough to be smiles coated with the promise that drips the blood of his Brother. 

It is for this reason that Thor forgives Loki. With all his heart. Forgives Loki anything he does or _may_ do. Because Loki has committed an act of defiance against Odin’s words, in the name of Thor. 

Just this one sentiment, to spur a thousand more.

Sometimes someone can say something so very small and it will fill every empty space of your heart.

*******

Following this, Odin tells Thor that he will be presented with Mjölnir.

So he throws himself into training in preparation to accept. He goes on journeys by himself, despite his mother’s dismay, venturing into the more treacherous terrains of Asgard. Odin almost seems proud at his will to run away. 

Thor doesn’t worry of injury or scars, using on himself healing stones whenever there’s too much blood, too much hurt. He relishes in it, the action. It’s so much easier to fall into an endless fight than wait, and wait, and wait. There is still the small scar on his palm to smooth a thumb across, when things get too rough.

He battles the various predators that crawl the land, becomes a predator himself, stripped down from royal armor. Just a young man, trying so very hard to mould himself into a King. He’d never been happier when the first hairs began to grow on his chin. 

Thor builds himself up so that he can push whatever Odin sees down, far away within. And then he has a whole face-full of hair that he shaves away in the blue reflection of a calm stream. He looks upon himself, only seeing a strange thing, a confused boy, pushed down deep where he cannot be seen. Thor’s arms are thrice the size, his thighs too, standing taller than he has ever stood before. 

He may be alone out here, but Thor does not miss the silent condescension, the strained conversations. The rift. In fact, it is this that causes him to train harder, farther from home, until perhaps, Odin no longer believes he’s just squandering his life away. Until perhaps, Thor becomes worthy.

He wished he could use Mjölnir as a blacksmith would, hammer himself out until he was shining and straight. His hand aches for the weapon, the treasure and the trust. To hold such a gift from the Allfather would mean so much. But he is just a twisted thing, twisted up inside. A knot. He’s afraid he could never stamp it out, no matter how large he got. 

Thor flings himself into peril, to test himself, push himself, and make sure he can come back from anything alive.

He comes back strong, but never comes back different.

*******

“Ugh, sometimes I dread attending these sorts of events.”

“Come now Sif, that’s not very nice. This was a celebration _worth_ getting dressed up over.”

“Aye, but you don’t have to wear _heels_ —”

“—Ah, _there_ he is!” Volstagg turns from Sif to greet Thor with a hearty slap to the shoulder.

Thor grins in return, brushing back a thick drape of his flowing red cape. “Did you have a good vantage point?”

He hefts Mjölnir so that they may see.

The hall is gleaming with light. Surrounding Thor are the familiar pleasant clanks and clunks of armor, the swishes of fine robes and fabrics. Crowd chatter washes across the sprawling archways of gold like an ever climbing tide against a sandy bank, filling up the atmosphere with its own unique noise and scent. This is Asgard at its finest. Everyone polished and shined up new.

“Why, it’s very ordinary up close, isn’t it?” Fandral twirls his finger into the short blond mustache that sweeps from under his nose. 

“Aesthetics, though pleasing, are hardly what make a weapon,” Sif crosses her arms. She is dressed very unlike herself for this event, with long voluminous black hair pulled back, flowing down from an intricate knot at the crown of her head. “Though perhaps you are the exception, good Fandral.”

“You look lovely, Sif,” Hogun diffuses with a rare close-lipped smile. She arches an eyebrow then curtsies. Fandral gives a dramatic wave of his hand and they snicker at one another.

“Thank you for coming, my friends.” Thor says, beaming. 

Oh, but Thor is so excited he can scarcely do more than grin, watching the streams of cheerful people flow around him. Odin sits on his throne, looking regally upon the court and subjects with his one wise eye. 

Thor sees his mother entertaining a group of female guests, the sparkling facets of her gown so bright she is as a star is to the ever stretching black of space. Thor spots his brother, dressed in noble drapes of green and tight fitted gold armor. He steals their mother’s cheek for a kiss and the surrounding women titter at Frigga’s flush. The smiles on both their faces are so charming. Beautiful.

Thor cannot help but mirror this smile.

“And, Thor, you looked to be the finest warrior in all of Asgard,” Hogun compliments. “Now with Mjölnir, I expect you are.” 

This sets Thor’s cheeks into a pleasant burn with the wide stretch of his grin, the rush of blood. He is so proud, so very, very proud that he can lift the weight of the brilliant burden of the hammer in his hand.

“Thank you,” He pats a hand over top Hogun’s, doesn’t even feel slighted when the man slips it away. “I am so glad to have you all by my side at this time. I hope we can fight many battles together, in many different worlds.”

“You have worked hard for this,” Volstagg smiles behind his long curly beard. “Ever am I envious!”

“Of what?” Thor laughs.

“Well, you can fly now, can’t you? Such a skill!”

“I doubt very much even the great Mjölnir could lift _your_ girth,” Comes the wit from a familiar silver tongue.

Thor chuckles deeply at his friends’ affronted looks as Loki takes his elbow. They huff and pretend like they weren’t about to make the same joke at Volstagg’s expense before trailing off towards the long refreshment tables. 

“Well, I’m not _wrong_ ,” Loki mutters slyly into Thor’s ear and he pulls Thor a bit away from the crowd towards his favourite corridor adjacent to the hall. The impressive passage that leads towards the throne room is lined with pillars carved with murals depicting Odin’s reign. It is a place where history holds up the palace.

“You look radiant today,” Thor replies, holding Loki by the opposite elbow so that whosoever may pass by knows they are ensconced in meaningful conversation. His brother pauses, tilts his head and the side of his mouth hooks up.

“Not nearly as much as you. Congratulations, Thor.” Loki’s grin is full of teeth. “I know how long you’ve waited for your new _toy._ ”

Thor snorts and his hand leaves Loki’s elbow only to cup Loki behind the ear, patting his face. “Thank you.”

They look at each other for a moment and Thor wonders if Loki can feel his palm’s scar against his cheek. Loki has changed too, over time. His nose is longer, his chin a bit pointier. His hair is a little longer, though it merely creeps over his high collar whereas Thor’s sweeps in curtains. They are of a height now too, almost the same. 

Loki smirks, his chin bowing down along with his eyes, as though he’s thought of something embarrassing. Thor strokes Loki’s cheek with his thumb, the skin of his jaw is still smooth, and when his brother next looks up it is with an amused smirk. 

“Mother requests your presence. It’s why I pulled you away, actually. She gave me the most _wonderful_ spiel and hopes to do the same for you.” 

Thor blinks in surprise, “About what?”

“ _Oh,_ ” Loki presses his lips together as if to hold in mirth but leans in anyway, to speak into his ear. The ominous tone makes Thor’s heart thud fast. “I would hide myself if I were you, Thor.” 

He must have a gormless look upon his face for Loki twists from his grasp and starts snickering in that specific way he has, the way he laughs when he knows the punch line to a joke no one else can hear. The sound goes bouncing back and forth off the pillars and Thor tilts his head, watching Loki leave. 

Laughter always takes the chance to dance away and find mischief somewhere else. When Thor returns to the hall he sees Frigga whispering into Lady Sif’s ear.

“Thor!” Frigga waves happily, an almost childish look lighting her features. Beside his mother, Sif smiles nervously, wiggling a few fingers in a half-hearted wave.

“Oh, come here, Thor.” Frigga hugs him and Thor presses close, tightly banding one arm around her middle. She laughs and playfully thumps his shoulder. “Mind your strength.”

“Yes,” Thor agrees, uncomfortably exchanging a glance with Sif.

“I was just telling Sif how beautiful she looks in her gown,” Frigga tells him, leading him closer, and Thor knows why his friend has not managed to escape his mother yet. The woman has a powerful grip. 

“And that it’s high time you put some of your old dance lessons to good use.”

“Mother,” Thor complains, rubbing at his neck, “Nooo.”

Sif covers her snort with a dainty crooked hand over her mouth. Thor glares over his mother’s fair head.

“Nonsense, Thor,” Frigga continues and sweeps a glittering arm to gesture towards the front of the hall. “Look, even young Hogun is dancing.”

Across the way, Hogun is doing a short spin with his partner, flat stare still in place.

“Yes, but _he_ has the credentials...”

And that is when Thor sees his brother, dancing candidly with some woman a head shorter than he, graceful and in step. Some kind of awful feeling slams into Thor, as if Mjölnir itself has been sent straight into his gut. As it is, Thor looks down blankly, realizing the hammer sits numb in his palm.

“Make sure to give her a kiss at the end,” Frigga whispers in his ear, so much like his brother.

He doesn’t really register it, as Frigga pushes him towards the dancers with Sif in tow. Thor feels fuzzy, a buzzing sort of indignant emotion that he does not truly understand. A sharp glint of gold catches Thor’s eye and he realizes Odin is watching. He swallows and carries on, taking Sif by the elbow in a distant sort of way. It’s not fair, watching Loki smile and laugh at his dance partner. Something twists deep in Thor’s stomach when another woman cuts in, taking up hands with Loki, who looks flattered and smug. 

He says something to the girl, and she giggles. Thor frowns, wondering what he could be saying. What does Loki say to anyone, to get his way? 

Thor shuts himself off as Sif begrudgingly dances with him. He can see it on her face that she’s not so pleased to be asked to move in her uncomfortable shoes, but Thor is vain in this. Doesn’t really have much sympathy. It’s not his fault that they keep getting pushed together. He doesn’t want to reject anyone, especially for being too close.

The dance ends and Thor’s shuffling feet plant themselves against the floor as Loki gives his dancer a kiss. Thor sees red. He can’t get over the gnawing inside, the tangling up of that small knot, tying together nerves. It’s with a start that Thor realizes what this feeling is.

He’s _jealous._

Why could Loki do this so easily? It’s not fair, really, that it has been Thor who always had to work so much harder. The first son, trying to shine himself up into something good, to only _hope_ that he could reflect Odin’s greatness.

And here is Loki, not even having to _try._

A spiky heel crushes into Thor’s foot and he lets out a yelp to look down at Sif’s annoyed face.

“At least make an effort,” She mumbles, cocking her head just barely to where Frigga surely watches. Guilt floods him at once, drowning out the feral animal that gnashes its teeth in his gut.

He stares at her, stares at Sif’s long, long hair, her lips, and kisses her hand instead.

“Well, if you were going to be so hesitant about _that,_ ” She smirks and pokes him in the nose when he’s done. 

“You are my friend, Sif.” He explains, feeling awfully sheepish, ashamed even.

“As you are mine.” She shakes her head, “I told your mother it was not to be. I just wish that the Allfather finally accept it...”

“Accept what?” Thor asks.

“Oh, it is tiresome sometimes.” And Sif stares at him. Stares at him as if he should know what she sees, know that he is something different that needs to be figured out. Something unravels in him, just a little, when she pats his large arm, looking a bit sad.

“To see you lonely.”

*******

Thor avoids his brother without explanation after that. And Loki, being Loki, sets the bar even. He snubs Thor in turn, makes sure they don’t talk for a long time.

Except everyone should know a ‘long time’ between brothers is not very long at all.


	4. Chapter 4

“Enter!”

The heavy intricately carved doors are silent on their hinges as they swing inwards.

Thor keeps his chin up as he strides past them, walking along the streams of sunlight that slip across the floor. He finds the royal chamber empty save for the King himself. The day is young but Odin has been at work for long hours yet, quiet and alone with his thoughts as though he is ensconced within a temple. 

Thor is curious why his presence has been requested. They’ve not been a tight-knit family for years and years. And though these are short skips of time for Aesir, Thor knows the weight of them all the same. He wonders hopefully if perhaps Odin has a quest for him to fulfill, an adventure would be a good distraction. Thor has long since conquered many of the perils Asgard has to offer.

He swallows and bows his head as he kneels into the slight grooves on the stone floor, where too many have knelt before.

“Thor,” Odin greets and does not look up from his reading. He sits upon a large raised chair with a comfortable posture, swathes of scrolls that spill from his golden desk curl over his knees.

It is seeing his father like this that puts that edge back into Thor’s gut. 

Because Thor can’t imagine himself sitting there, on this simple private throne, reading for long stretches of time and suffering the hardship of boredom that comes with responsibility. He feels impossibly young, thinking of it. It makes him question if he’ll ever be ready, if he even deserves to be King. But he can’t think of what else he could try to be.

“Father,” Thor replies. Only then does Odin look up.

Thor feels the even stare of his father’s eye casting over him as though Odin can hear his every thought and stiffens, his heart beating so very fast. 

“Do not look so sick, boy,” Odin suggests. “I did not summon you for a fight.”

Thor frowns at this, chagrined. He straightens somewhat and then stands when Odin beckons with a hook of the finger to come and stand closer. 

“I am not troubled,” Thor mutters, gaze sliding away to the side, upset that he is so easily seen through. 

“Oh?” Odin replies, and Thor can hear him smirking behind his thick beard, “No need to lie.”

There is a tense moment that itches in Thor’s ears with every scratch of coarse paper as Odin’s fingers deftly roll up the sprawling parchments.

“Your mother remains a catalyst for unnecessary meetings,” Odin continues, the scrolls scritch-scratching in his grasp. “And yet she is elsewhere now, tending to her business.”

“I know not of her work,” Thor grinds out. He’s painfully aware that he has not paid attention to anything, anyone, that hasn’t revolved around himself for an embarrassedly long stretch of time.

“She worries,” Odin replies, “As do I. Except where I plan for future coronations, she longs to plan for weddings.”

_Oh._

Thor’s fingers curl against themselves tight, so tight, to stop himself from fidgeting even as he says, “Such things seem impossibly far away, to plan for.”

“Or perhaps you mean for such things to only be impossible,” Odin returns.

Thor tries so hard to swallow against the lump in his throat, but can’t. He’s stuck. 

Odin finishes with his papers and stows them safely on the ornate shelving that frames his desk.”Your brother gallivants in the city, I hear. Wooing women with his silver tongue.”

Thor braces against this comparison with a fierce scowl, the feeling of inadequacy rearing its ugly head, teeth snarling as it tears into him. He’s angry at himself. He should not still be so jealous, feeling it as though it is still a hot knife piercing deep. He’d thought separating from Loki would dull the pain, but instead everything bleeds together. He’s loathed to admit that he was wrong to ignore his brother to begin with, but doesn’t know how to fix it.

Odin snorts. “Make not that face, Thor. Loki’s tongue is loose as a maiden’s and _that_ is what they favour in him. Gossip.”

He leans forward across the expansive desk and gestures roughly so that Thor comes closer still, to stand by his chair. Odin looks at him for one airless moment but Thor refuses to break the stare. Finally Odin stands, and lays a hand upon Thor’s shoulder, pulling him down to an even height.

“This was much easier when you were smaller.” Odin mutters gruffly, and puts his hand atop Thor’s head, his old gnarled fingers twisting in the golden hair. Thor bites his lip and there’s a tiny explosion of fear and disbelief in his chest when Odin places a kiss on his temple.

“I would tell you this once.” 

Thor blinks rapidly at the sudden tears that stand in his eyes, “Father?”

“A King who can soar far above his subjects never has to worry that his every move will be seen.”

The Allfather never whispers, his voice is meant to command even the smallest of ears in the farthest of townships in all of Asgard. But he very nearly whispers this now, the words soft as they can be, coming from Odin. Perhaps it’s not something he ever meant for Thor to hear but he says it anyway. Odin pats him heavily on the head once more, touching Thor’s cheek with the hard palm of his hand. There are raised scars there too, like the ones Thor and Loki sport. He vaguely wonders how many of those promises his father has kept.

“You have done well so far. I think you’ll find that Mjölnir can take you a bit higher.”

Thor nods dumbly, mouth slack with shock. It is when he is almost out the doors of his father’s private chambers, when Odin calls after him.

“And apologize to your brother, Thor! I’d swear you two were still children with the way you fight.” 

Thor can’t help it, lets out a laugh as he grins over his shoulder. “Then we’ll never grow up.”

“As I said,” Odin waves a dismissive hand. “Impossible.”

*******

Turns out that learning to fly is easier said than done.

Thor’s friends just assumed the moment he’d lifted Mjölnir the hammer’s mighty power had been transferred to him. But that was not the case. In fact, Thor didn’t know how to use the weapon as more than what it was and spent most of his time throwing it at trees or marvelling at how he could pin animals down without the hint of dislodging. He stopped this when a poor flightless bird, too frightened by the oversized hammer resting upon its tail, managed to pluck itself.

Thor grunts as he throws the hammer across the long sloping grain fields. The gentle waving of the golden blades tickles his knees as he trudges after it. He’s determined to master this weapon, if it’s the last thing he’ll do. The quiet words of the Allfather resonate deep inside, echoing in a pleasant manner, almost terrifying in the uplifting sensation they cause. The weight of Mjölnir in his palm weighs him back down.

If he gets good at this, pushes himself up enough, then he doesn’t have to worry. 

Thor wipes his nose with the back of his arm and pulls the stem of Mjölnir like a deep-rooted spud from the ground only to heft and fling it at an invisible target once more. 

“Cumbersome thing, isn’t it?” 

Thor stiffens.

The tall grasses part way as Loki swishes through them, arms swinging and head cocked. His voice is smooth, one that you could expect to forget, because of its fluid nature. The way it flows in one ear and out the other. But Thor has been longing to hear it and drinks up every drop.

“Loki,” Thor replies before presses his lips together, stooping down to twirl Mjölnir amongst the grass, whirling out a little circle patch. He wipes at his nose again, hair curtaining the side of his face. “What brings you to the fields?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Loki sounds surly. “Father told me to apologize too.”

Thor fights a spark of righteousness at that by frowning deeply, picks up the hammer again before meeting his brother’s eyes, “And here I thought you did what you want.”

“Oh, Thor,” Loki rolls his eyes. “And Father thinks _I’m_ the one who refrains from making amends.”

“Hmph,” Thor grunts and tosses Mjölnir again. Loki merely raises an eyebrow as it goes whizzing by scant measurements from his head.

He smirks. “You missed.”

“No, I didn’t,” Thor grumbles, feet kicking at the tall grass to trudge a path out towards the hammer yet again.

“Aren’t you supposed to be able to fly now?”

“Yes,” Thor answers with surliness just the same as his brother, “But I haven’t tried yet.”

“Why not? Scared?”

Thor whips around at that. “No!”

“Hmph.” Loki shrugs and stubbornly follows Thor down the path towards the weapon lodged deeply in the side of an anthill the size of a drum. Before Thor can kick it free, Loki has set the insect home ablaze with a simple twitch of his fingers, burning away the offensive trails of ants trickling out in long thin red lines.

“Your help is not necessary, Brother.” Thor sniffs, rubbing his nose again and tapping the ash on Mjölnir off.

“I’m merely curious, you see. Just expediting the process.”

“Well, why don’t you just... expedite somewhere else,” Thor’s mouth twists for a second, hoping he’s used the word right, and it’s as if Loki knows because he grins, completely unabashed.

And Thor can’t help the answering grin that forms, “Shut up.”

“I won’t say a word.” Loki sticks out the tip of his tongue, “Promise. No words that I know you to be unsure of.”

“Stop,” Thor laughs and reaches out to shove at his brother’s shoulder. Loki seems pleased though, at the sudden contact, and moves closer after Thor’s arm falls back to his side.

Loki snickers, bumping shoulders with Thor, his pointy features holding that sweet smile which has always softened his face. That familiar tilt of his head, like Loki had used to give Thor back before their mother told them to start looking at strange women on the dance floor. Thor sniffs again and jumps when Loki’s thumb presses against the side of his nose, then scrapes at the side of his stubble.

“You’ve dirt all over your face.” Loki idly inspects his thumbnail, digging it clean. “Well, come on then, let’s see it.”

Thor scrunches his nose against the odd fluttering feeling that prickles across his skin in a freckled design. “What, fly?”

“Of course not. I actually listen, you know? Your next best trick.”

“Ha Ha,” Thor stalks away, twirling the hammer in his grip listlessly. 

Loki follows him all the way down the fields, the swish swaying of the grass the whispers of an unknown song. The breeze that comes in from the East is sweet with the scents of supper all over the city. Almost a whole day at it and no progress. Thor sighs and tosses Mjölnir at the foot of a tree which stands at the edge of the field. The lone tree in all the hilly plains, Thor slumps down beside it, tired.

The tips of Loki’s boots enter his sight. 

“Why are you following me?” Thor rolls his eyes and leans back against the rough tree trunk, staring up at his brother.

“Isn’t that what I always do?” Loki returns, dropping down to sit cross-legged atop an oversized exposed root.

“Loki, you don’t have to apologize, it’s my fault.” Thor quickly looks away, taking a deep breath and twisting long grass around his fingers. “I was ignoring you. Don’t ask me why.”

“I won’t,” Comes his brother’s amused voice. “I knew I was making you jealous.”

Thor’s mouth falls open and the grass in his hand rips. “What?”

Loki leans closer, smirking. “I had my pick of the lot, while you,” He puts a fingertip under Thor’s chin to snap his jaw back into place, “Were stuck with Sif.”

“I...” Thor swallows, his brows crashing together in denial. “I was _not._ ”

Loki grins and Thor feels chagrined. It was the truth, in a way. Utter shame floods into the pit of his stomach. It fills him so quickly it’s like he’s being pushed out from the inside, stretched thin and taunt overtop a monster he can’t see. Guilt, that he had not thought of his jealousy in that way. For Thor knows how jealous he really was, still is, but it had nothing to do with Sif.

The guilt intensifies, roils inside him, a sudden clench around his heart. Squeezing. The sudden sensation stings worse than any blade, chokes him stronger than hate. And he hates himself for this overpowering feeling, something that no matter how large he grows he can’t stamp down.

“Then why did you do it?!” Thor roars, can’t stop himself from jumping to his feet, but Loki mirrors the action.“To laugh at my expense?” 

Loki just looks at him, as if this is all so simple, and Thor can’t take it. He spins and punches the tree, so hard that bits of bark go splintering off in all directions and the trunk cracks. An awful fissure goes spidering up the tree like a lightning strike from the ground. 

Somewhere deep in the field a flock of birds burst into flight. Large round green leaves begin to rain down.

Loki’s eyes are the same green as he stares impassively, “I expect you would hear me laughing, if that was my intention.”

Thor can barely hear over his harsh pants, the blood rushing in his ears. He’s mad. So furious, but Loki just stands there blankly, ankle-deep in the spilled leaves until the utter silence that falls upon them squeezes out Thor’s response.

“Fight me.”

And Mjölnir comes flying.

Thor barely has enough time to catch the hammer by the hilt before he’s being lifted off his feet. The force of Mjolnir’s power is immense, an almost uncontainable momentum. Fear and shock are the fastest acting forces which make Thor’s fingers clamp down hard enough to hold on. The tear of air rushing past him is disorienting, but there’s a pinch in his leg and he vaguely realizes Loki’s got a tight hold of his ankle.

“ _THORRR,_ ” Loki screams, punching at his knee.

Thor growls and kicks at his brother, trying to shake him off.

They’re simultaneously grappling with each other while trying to hang on as they both go zooming away on Mjölnir’s trajectory, flown far across the landscapes, future Kings shot high into the sky.

*******

Until they crash land into the side of the Northern mountain range.

*******

“Ugghhh....”

Thor spits out a fountain of rock, groaning as he pulls himself out of the rubble. The white dust of pulverized rock pours from him in clouds as he crawls from the crater. He just lays there at the edge of a flat protrusion, panting hard against the muck he’s inhaled. There’s grit in his eyes and Thor coughs, rubbing at them vigorously until he can blearily make out the city, a far away golden speck amongst the forests and plains and all the roads that lead in.

Mjölnir rests comfortably upon a slab of rock, in the middle of the impact sight. Thor groans again, rolling onto his back to gather his wits before he pushes himself to his feet and slumps towards it, realizing his knees and elbows are bloody and bruised. He grabs at jutting rocks to steady himself, fingers twining around the odd root, until his hand lands upon a black booted foot sticking out from a huge crevice. 

Thor grunts and grabs Loki by the leg, dragging him out of the crater only to throw him down on his back.

“Hmhphfcckkk...” Loki’s pointy face is scrunched in pain.

“Get up, Brother.” Thor toes him in the ribs, and Loki grimaces, spitting out his fair share of pebbles and dust. His gums are bright red and there’s a bump on his head the size of an apple. If Thor thought his dust-coated lungs could handle it, he would have chuckled.

Loki still manages a laugh.

“ _Wow_ ,” He’s breathless, lying on his back with his head half atop a small shrub. Thor rolls his eyes and retrieves his disobedient weapon while Loki sits up and shakes the gray from his hair until its black again.

“Think you can fly us back?”

“I’m not sure what I did,” Thor inspects the hammer as if willing an answer to appear on its smooth surface.

“Great,” Loki gets up, coughing and dusting himself off. “So then we’re stuck on the top of a mountain until you can figure it out. We’ll be here forever. Suppose I should make house.”

“Would you be quiet!” Thor shouts back, scowling and dropping the hammer to his side. It’s so like Loki, to make fun of everything, to make it all a joke. “If you didn’t _provoke_ me this wouldn’t—”

“Me!?” Loki bares his teeth and stalks forward until they are nose to nose. “ _You’re_ the one who—”

“No, you are! You of all people should know I—”

“Yes, of all people, _**me!**_ ” Loki yells back at him, voice wavering. He’s got a distant kind of expression, as if when he looks upon Thor he sees something else, something much farther away from this moment. 

“Me. _That’s_ why, Thor.”

Thor doesn’t even know what they’re arguing about anymore. He snorts and snags Loki by the scruff of his collar, dragging him towards the crumbling rim of the plateau. The hammer is held tight in his hand, so tight it hurts. His heart is beating so fast it’s almost like it’s not there.

“No, no, no,” Loki thumps him on the back with balled up fists as Thor bands a large arm around his middle, pressing them both close. “Stop this, Thor. Thor! _THOR._ What are you doing!?”

Thor thrusts them over the edge.

"You reckless bastarRRAAHHHHH!!!”

*******

A fish flops angrily atop Loki’s head then spills back into the lake.

“You’re— _You_ —That was mindless!” Loki sputters, wiping thick black bangs from his face to be slicked back with filthy water. Bits of grass and mud and sticks cling to his studded leather tunic, completely ruined. Drowned in drenched clothing, Loki looks younger than his years, blinking owlishly.

Thor sneezes and flips his own hair to hang on one side, using one hand to wring it into a fat gold lock. Blue gray water streams out and down his arm, dripping off his bare elbow. 

“Don’t complain. It worked!”

“Yes, of course it did. _After_ the first thousand lengths of freefall!” Loki gasps for air, shaking his head in disbelief as he pushes himself up to stand in the shallows.

The flight had been all a blur of sound and sight, the only anchor to reality was his arm around Loki, holding tight. But now they’re knee-deep in the mud and water of the lake which rests west of the palace grounds. Not _too_ bad for a first landing. 

There’s a muscle in Loki’s cheek that keeps jumping and Thor knows it’s the insistent tug of a smile.

“Admit that it was brilliant.” Thor suggests and Loki slaps water at him.

“Only if you admit that you _were_ jealous.”

They wade through the sticky mud that coats the lakebed. It gets like this, in the summer months. The water running low and growing murky with booms of aquatic life. They kick their way through a school of bright silver fish that swarm their legs. Probably excited by the puffs of red that blossom from Thor’s knees whenever they bend.

Thor is still uneasy of what Loki knows. He couldn’t bear it if Loki became awkward with him because of this. He’s the only one who’s never been. And how would he even react to the fact that Thor was more jealous of those women? He’d think Thor weak, an aberration, a shameful man, unworthy of the name Odinson. 

Thor scowls and looks away, knowing his cheeks are flushed embarrassedly. 

“If I say yes, will that make you forget about it?”

“Never,” Loki replies with this odd little smirk upon his face, as if he’s not really aware of it. Thor only knows this because Loki is _always_ aware of how he smiles. This is not one of those.

“It’s because you love me best, right?” He doesn’t wait for Thor’s answer. “I’d be jealous too then, I expect.”

“But you weren’t,” Thor adds, feeling oddly hollow and even more acutely, alone. He is alone, he realizes with a dull sort of hurt, like being hit with something too large to actually pierce. It’s only he who feels this way.

Loki slyly bats his eyelashes, “Only because you don’t look _half_ as good as I do...”

Thor slaps water at him when Loki laughs. 

It goes quiet between them as they move sluggishly through the water, drained from the rush of excitement. Frogs chirping fills in the gaps along with the plip plops of plants flicking against the water. It starts to rain, sparse droplets landing this way and that. A light shower to wash away the grime. Loki edges nearer, and Thor automatically puts an arm around his shoulder. All is forgiven.

“I wasn’t jealous,” Loki mutters huddling close and wiping at his slick face again. “But I know envy well. How lucky you are, Thor, to receive Mjölnir as a gift.” 

Loki’s mouth purses at the last word and Thor realizes this as true. That their father has given Thor so much with this treasured weapon. It’s going to make him so much better. It’s going to make everything right. He wishes he could voice this to Loki, explain to his brother that he’s never been lacking, like Thor. That Loki doesn’t need greatness to hold onto in order to lift him up. He is there already, so high that no one can see his every move. It’s in this where Thor tries valiantly to follow.

“If I could, I would give you a gift even greater,” Thor says around the lump in his throat.

Loki cocks his head. “You can do me a favour instead. I’ll even do you one, in return.” 

“What is it?”

“Don’t take any others flying.” Loki trails a fingertip down the side of Mjölnir’s slippery face, where it hangs from Thor’s belt. “You’ll kill them with fright, I swear.”

Thor snorts and picks a leaf from his brother’s lapel before tightening his hold into something almost like a headlock. “You just don’t believe anyone else worthy.”

“Well,” Loki scrabbles at Thor’s heavy arm with a little grin that turns devilish. “There’s no one else like us. So what do you want?” 

“What I want...” Thor repeats. There’s a weird feeling that echoes around in his chest, suddenly very full of anticipation. Thor bites his lip.

“Yes.” Loki encourages, managing to squeeze his head out from Thor’s grasp. His hair sticking up in all directions until the rain smoothes it back down. Thor’s heart races and he cannot keep up. He can’t lie. Not to Loki, not about this. He cannot undo an apology by next lying about the reason.

“You know me better than anyone.” Thor chooses carefully, blowing the excess water from his nose into his fingers and letting the lake wash it away.

His feet are too heavy, coated in the sopping mud of the lakebed, sucking him into place. For some reason, Thor remembers the way Loki looked at that girl, his dance partner. And how he kissed her softly on the lips. 

Thor covers his mouth with his hand. Sniffs, and wipes more water away.

“Hmm,” Loki hums, surveying him with a very critical eye. “Shall I guess?”

“No!” Thor protests before he even knows what Loki means to say. At his brother’s raised eyebrow he feels stupid and embarrassed. Guilty to the core. He hates as much as he loves how Loki understands him at once.

“ _No,_ ” He says again and turns to plough forwards, arms sending large waves of water careening away from him as he treads through the lake. The rain comes faster, pouring down in visible sheets that waft like translucent capes in the wind.

“Sure?” Loki calls after him, diligently following.

“I don’t need anything!”

A hand lands on his arm, spinning Thor around. “And I think you do! So just accept it and let me do you this favour!” 

“ _What_ would you have me accept?!” 

Thor rips his arm away as the words rip from his throat. He cannot bear his brother’s touch now. The touch upon something he dares not speak of, especially when Odin has given him a way out, a way up. He can’t fall back down into this, can’t allow himself to give it a name. Otherwise he’ll call to it, he’ll think of it, and perhaps even grow to hate or love it, instead of pretend it _doesn’t exist._

“Yourself!” A bolt of lightning streaks across the sky, illuminating Loki’s concerned face. “Accept yourself Thor, because I know—”

“Watch your words!” Thor yells and shoves Loki away from him. “Do not _speak_ lest you anger me, Brother.”

“Well you are quick to anger,” Loki cracks back like a whip, as he pushes hair out of his eyes once more. 

They tread towards the edge of the lake in faster rough strokes as the storm clouds pile in, lightning snapping against unseen points in the sky. The water is turbulent, gray as the sky and turning blacker as the storm clouds roll and thicken. It’s unnatural, almost, the sudden violence of the storm. A tempest king with an army of raindrops, thunder as its war drums, lightning its fire.

“Is all this you?” Loki shouts over the noise and when Thor looks over his brother is following with a large grin, wide ribbons of rain sluicing down his face and tunic to join with the water at his waist. “All this?”

There’s a clap of thunder so loud it shakes Thor’s bones. Mjölnir resonates in his palm.

“Yes, it’s me,” Thor shouts back. Loki takes giant running steps to meet him, until they are standing nose to nose, toe to toe in the mud. They’re always stuck in the middle of a storm.

“Everyone thinks you’re so _bright_ , Thor, but you’re not.” And it’s this little quip that has Loki smirking, a bright flash against the shadows, like a streak of lightning across the night. He cups the air, catching handfuls of thick droplets in the palms of his hands. He shows the never-ending pools of water to Thor, as though he’s holding so many secrets they’re impossible to keep from spilling forth.

“This is the real you.” Loki holds his face and the water tumbles down Thor’s cheeks as he thumbs at the corners of Thor’s mouth, forcing a half smile upon Thor’s face. Thor can feel the raised scar on the palm of Loki’s hand.

“This is you.”

Thor stares at him, trying to make sense of it. Loki leans forward and Thor brings a hand up to stop him but isn’t fast enough. Doesn’t have time before Loki gently tilts his chin down and places a soft kiss against his lips.

His hand hovers uselessly until somehow it comes to cradle the back of Loki’s head. The press of their lips together becomes overlapped with more pressure and Thor’s left gasping, trembling with that unnamed want. Need. 

Loki pulls back with a satisfied look and Thor’s hand falls away.

“There, good. Was that so bad?”

“You,” Thor gulps, swallowing the pouring secrets back down. “You tell me.”

Loki laughs and Thor’s stomach clenches. He wants to do it again. But it’s a lie, really, that Kings can do whatever they want. If Thor ever took what his heart wanted, all his world would fall apart.

“You should see your face.” Loki teases and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. He wipes the side of Thor’s mouth too, because Thor is too stupid and shocked to even move. But it all gets lost in the rain.

*******

Loki never did tell him. If it was good or bad.


	5. Chapter 5

It should be known by now, to all of Asgard, that a smiling thinking Loki is a bad omen.

On the other hand, Thor has _always_ known to be suspicious of a scheming slinking little brother. From the time when they were tiny things, spinning around in the courtyards like dandelion fluff, to even now. He’s seen the way his brother gets that glint in his eye, sweet smile morphing into something just a little sharper, directed at the intended target. Plotting trouble. It’s Loki’s idea of fun.

Not to say that Thor doesn’t believe getting into trouble isn’t fun. Oh, he’s had his fair share of scrapes. A fountain of secret scuffles which waft back to him on lazy days, like that same fluff floating backwards into a palm of the hand. But Thor has always met this mischievous Loki with a small barb of resistance. It’s with this common form of his brother, after all, that Thor learned it is possible for something to become too good to be true.

So it is not a new thing, this Loki who spends time smiling and thinking. Thor has been aware of his brother’s love for pulling tricks all his life. It’s just that Thor acknowledges that sometimes he himself can’t be sure if the tales Loki tells are tall. And sometimes, he’s the one most likely to be fooled.

Because now? Thor catches Loki smiling and thinking, at _him._

This sets Thor on edge, suspicion growing into ire. He can’t help this, not really, because it’s _unnerving_. The way Loki has taken to staring at him, mostly when he thinks Thor’s not looking, but sometimes not even bothering to hide his open gaze. Thor is starting to think that Loki’s laughing at his weakness. 

At him.

It twists a savage vein in his gut, makes him feel ill. The very thought of Loki laughing at him makes Thor feel humiliated. But maybe that’s exactly what Loki wants.

Oh, Thor is under no illusions about Loki savouring that memory, the day in the lake. Where they’d fought together, argued, played. Where Loki had—

Thor viciously gnaws at the seasoned beef haunch in his grasp, swallowing the thoughts down along with the meat. Ever since that incident, Thor had been very careful to not look anywhere near Loki, or his lips, or anything to do with _anything._

He expected there would be repercussions. Unpleasant ones at that. He didn’t know what form they would take, public or private, but he knew well enough that it would be painful and humiliating. The Warriors Three were right. It seemed the time when Loki would play him a grand fool was finally at hand. 

Thor vaguely wonders if he should just pack his lucky travel bag and hop a ride on Mjölnir to escape. 

There’s a delicate cough and Thor slows his chewing to look up. His mother is peeling a tiny morsel of meat from the high point of her cheek with a reproachful frown. From the head of the long table Odin snorts and Thor feels himself flush in embarrassment.

There’s a tiny snicker.

Thor cuts his downcast eyes over to see Loki, smiling at him from behind a forkful of food.

It drives him _mad._

As it was, Thor made sure they rarely spoke with each other. Outside of meals with their parents and the odd court session party to large crowds of people, they weren’t in the same vicinity very often. So there was no excuse. It should have been easy to avoid his brother.

But then again, Thor’s body and mind have always been determined to disobey.

His eyes followed Loki from afar, independent of his fierce inner dilemma. Heedless of the steady caution he’d cultivated for a life time, Thor still caught himself drinking in the sight of his brother, awakening from his daze only to feel his heart thump like the warning drums of war. 

Had it always been that way? The sheer magnetic force that pulled Thor’s senses to search for his brother was powerful enough to easily pull from him any misgivings as well. It became a simple natural thing. Repeatedly, Thor would jolt into realization with an anxious bolt. A surprised dismay, that Thor had been unthinkingly smiling back at his brother, encouraging his own embarrassment. It was much too natural a reaction to have been happening for such a short time. This was reason enough to be ashamed.

There’s a flash of white and Loki’s grinning, green eyes holding secrets as he turns his head to pose a question to the Allfather. Odin answers after a moment of careful chewing, in low tones. Thor swallows thickly, thumping on his chest to help the generous bite of meat go down the right way. 

Just how long had Thor been watching?

But as it so happened, whenever this happened, he found Loki was always looking back.

*******

So it went, whenever their eyes would meet from across the room, Loki would stare until Thor scowled fiercely and had to turn away.

Maybe it turned into some kind of game. Thor didn’t know for sure, only that the queasiness in his chest would take hold, fist his fluttering heart like a bird struggling to fly. He would not be fooled. He refused. 

And Thor became more recluse, dutifully going through the motions of the days, trying to keep himself aloft in the ever watchful eye of the Allfather. Push himself up so high that when Loki decided to bring him down he may not have to fight so hard to crawl back up.

This all worked fine, if not for the fact that Thor began to lose his best friend in the process of avoiding his brother. For Loki was one in the same. And then the day came, when Loki must have made his decision— on how he was going to torture Thor best. 

It came in the form of a kiss.

*******

“And so it was, I scaled the tower. It was a looming figure, a monolith. Tall enough to pierce the sky—if I were to be true to its monumental height— and the fair maiden’s hair was of equal measure. Untangled red silk, which could easily touch the ground from its great summit...”

“A tall tale, this is,” Volstagg cheerfully denying Fandral’s account.

“Let me finish and then you would sorely wish you had joined me!” 

“In a fantasy! Of course, of course.”

“Nonsense,” Sif needles the two men as they traverse the maze of lanes in the royal gardens. 

The buzz of insects is loud in the treetops, the solid crunch of foliage underfoot. The seasonal flowers are in full bloom and their fragrances thick, fighting with one another in the air. Each twist and turn of the decorative paths carved out in gold paving leads them through a new battle.

Sif continues, batting at an errant bug swirling by her ear. “I have heard enough, Fandral, if you mean to inform us you’d _share._ Hogun, don’t tell me you believe this?”

“I was _there._ ” Hogun answers with a deadpan expression. He circles around the fat cluster of friends and walks ahead, head reclined against his folded arms. When he looks over his shoulder there is a hint of a smirk, “But rest assured, it is truth only in Fandral’s need for exaggeration...”

“This part of the tale I do believe!” Thor laughs, chuckling at the comedic, scandalized expression that springs up behind Fandral’s curled moustache. The shorter blond swings an arm around Thor’s shoulders, pressing a finger into his chest pointedly.

“Thor, don’t listen to his lies. You’re on my side, aren’t you?” Fandral grins imploringly, “You’ve seen all sorts of adventures around Asgard. You know it is possible. Hogun is just jealous it was _I_ who—” 

“I admit to nothing but taking a great many stairs...” Hogun interrupts.

The Warriors Three and Lady Sif crow back and forth at each other, in between the lascivious storytelling of Fandral’s latest conquest. But as far as Thor is concerned, it’s a boring sort of adventure, having more to do with how Fandral wooed an unreachable maiden instead of usurping any great foe. 

Although, from watching his friends over the years, it seems possible this in itself is an enemy worth besting. For Thor knows nothing of how to go about reaching out to a woman for romantic liaisons. Has never wanted to, never needed to.

Not until that damned _kiss._

The feelings it had stirred, deep in his gut. It was nothing he’d ever felt before, a feeling he didn’t know was desperately needed until he had it, right upon his lips. But everything changed with that simple touch of mouth against mouth. He now knew _desire._ At least, a desire completely new and different to that of wanting to be strong and worthy. Father’s best. The possibilities of this new insight were like breadcrumbs leading to places unknown. 

For it was as Fandral said. Thor knew almost all there was to know of Asgard. And he was always _starving_ for more.

Except it wasn’t so simple. 

Nothing ever was for Thor, and his conscience squirmed in a way that made him sick when he thought about it. Loki, his _brother_ , should not have been the one to stir such sentiment. He knows this in a detached manner, from trying so hard all his life to know the way things were supposed to go—the right way.

Thor frowns, hand dragging through the sharply cut tops of the hedges. 

The problem was that there’s no one else.

Thor can think of no one, no other person he could see himself sharing such a personal thing. Maybe everyone was this way, or maybe he’s the only one. Thor doesn’t know for certain, but he knows better than to trust his first instinct. He knows from experience that he’d be wrong.

“You well, Thor?” Volstagg asks, cutting into Thor’s silent ponderings. 

“Oh,” Thor grins, embarrassed. The crease between in his forehead smoothes out and fades away. “Naturally, Volstagg. I just was trying to recall,” He lifts and eyebrow, grin turning cocky, “Which tavern is waiting for our party—”

“ _MMM—ehem—_ Hhm,” Volstagg’s hungry hum overthrows the flitting insects. “Yes! Yes! We are late, aren’t we? Oh, and I’ve not eaten since midday.”

“Which was a mere hour ago, if I read the sun correctly,” Comes the sardonic voice that slips easily within earshot.

Volstagg bristles like an angry furred beast as he swings his girth around, curly red hair seemingly standing more on end. 

“Loki!” Thor shouts and before thinking any more of it, he’s smiling. 

Loki smiles back, tilting his dark head in greeting. He’s overdressed for the weather, in tunic and coat of thick black hide, armored with studs. A pair of gloves is hanging out of one pocket. He stuffs them back in and rolls up his sleeves as he walks closer. Thor only notices all these things because he’s resolutely looking away from Loki’s face. 

“How _are_ my dear Brother’s good friends?” Loki doesn’t allow them to answer, sidling up next to Thor’s side. “I hear you’re all going to celebrate a wedding in town. Isn’t that quaint?”

Sif rolls her eyes and Fandral huffs, pulling himself to his full height, which wasn’t much taller than Loki, save for his highly flipped hair.

“Yes, and we won’t see you there, I hope.”

“He’s not invited,” Hogun mutters.

Thor frowns but Loki laughs and puts a heavy hand on his elbow, slanting Thor down. He blinks as Loki leans a sharp chin against his shoulder only to look out of the corner of his eyes at the irritated foursome.

“Naturally, I have better things to do.” Loki dismisses, and then he turns so that he may speak gently into Thor’s ear. “Thor, come with me. I’m going hunting.”

“ _You?_ ” Volstagg gives a hearty laugh. “You detest roaming the wild!”

Loki’s smile widens and Thor tenses. The feel of the muscle in his brother’s cheek is powerful enough to lift a weighted feeling in the pit of his stomach, a chain attached to an anchor, keeping him from drifting away.

“The game I’m after you would know nothing about.” Loki taunts. “Maidens, of course.”

_Oh._

“This is the celebration of Sif’s dearest cousin and his new wife,” Thor tries, swallowing back his utter jealousy. It’s not easy. He’s scowling and brushing Loki off his arm with and easy shove, joining his friends who look on with approving smiles.

“That does sound _so_ important.” Loki replies, and with an almost nonchalant shrug he tugs at his coat to straighten it with one stiff movement. 

If only Thor could be so composed. 

“You could come with us, Loki,” He offers before he can stop himself and his friends shoot him dismayed looks. “He can come as my guest!”

“Thank you for the sentiment,” Loki smirks and turns on his heel, “But forgive me if I pass.”

Thor doesn’t realize he’s still watching until Loki’s down the lane and turns to look over his shoulder. Loki raises one hand to press to his lips before he blows a kiss that floats towards them. Then he waves goodbye. 

Thor barely manages to keep his mouth from falling open. His heart thumps once, twice, thrice loud as thunder in his chest.

And Fandral makes a face, “What was that all about?”

Volstagg scratches his head and turns to Sif, “Do you think it was for you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Sif immediately grimaces, appalled. “I’m more likely to climb a _never-ending tower_ by a maiden’s hair...”

Fandral sighs loudly. “I’m wounded by you lot. All of you. I will swear it true until my dying day.”

“And I so swear you have multiple lives.” Hogun puts in as Sif and Volstagg chuckle. 

“Ah yes,” Sif recounts with fondness, “Who was it that took a sword to the gut just short months ago? Speared all the way through, if I remember correctly.”

Fandral ignores this and elbows Thor in the side. “He’s madness itself, really, your brother.”

“I hear magic does that to the mind.” Thor answers, vaguely trying to wade through his thoughts which have all turned to mush upon witnessing that floating kiss.

“Truly?” Volstagg pats Sif on the crown of her head, “Has it seeped into yours yet, from all the spells he forced onto you to grow that hair? Which is not as beautiful as mine, if I do say so myself...”

“Haha,” Sif punches him in the arm, grinning wide. “Right. Come, we are late, as usual. My cousin’s new wife will riot if I don’t buy the first rounds. She’s the most irritable woman you’ll ever meet and hates me to boot. I wouldn’t even bother, but you should see how _happy_ they are... Confuses us all.”

“ _That_ is true madness.” Thor chuckles, amused. 

But he so desperately wants to know that feeling of love. Wants a real, honest chance to be confused.

*******

Later that night, the tavern bursts at the seams with celebrations, ale flowing freely into open laughing mouths. It is with the amazing, buzzing numbness his deep cup brings that Thor forgets all about his worries and finally feels at ease.

Even when he thinks he sees Loki slip in, a tall pale figure, a slit of light filtering in between the burly boisterous patrons. Even when he notices Loki’s disheveled appearance, tunic askew, cheeks flushed. Self satisfied smirk.

Thor finds he didn’t care so much, didn't feel the jealousy that threatened him with immolation, when his palate was whet with mead. He didn’t even think of himself and about what was inside, what wrongness could be dug out of the deepest pits of his heart, if he laughed it all away. 

And laugh he did, many times, over and over, as he and his friends treasured the nights of drinking like pearls strung on a very long line.

Thor casts himself deep into friends and fighting and drink. 

And there were women.

At taverns in the smoky rambunctious atmosphere, he remembers that Elf in Alfheim, the one whose eyes reeled him in like bait. There is a hook of fear attached to that line of thinking, and Thor knows how he comes across with men. It was hard enough getting back to the easy camaraderie with the Warriors Three.

Whenever women bat their eyelashes at him, smiled with invitation, he declined. It was not that he did not _like_ women. He enjoyed them, if not in the romantic sense, nor of the body. Only that he got along better with them in these times. But Thor, mighty Thor, was the Prince of Asgard. It wouldn’t be right to mix up with maidens from bars. He couldn’t share himself with them, because of this. 

And then, like a shadow cast by an idea so bright, the simple justification stretched to cover any woman. Higher class women of the court, other royalty, perhaps one or two potential suitor. They all fell away to a place in the shade where he could not see their hurt faces at his rejection. To a place where he would not see the reason he turned them down. 

This was a period in Thor’s life that he hardly remembered past the blur, past the mindlessness which guided him through the motions. Past the hurt that followed him like a darkness, no matter how harsh the light.

Staring at the blurred figures dancing along tavern walls in the candlelight, he’d come to realise that a shadow was just a reflection of the self. And even if you closed your eyes against it, the shadow would still be there, at its strongest inside.

But those are the kind of strange thoughts you have, when you get drunk.

*******

So it became that the best place to find the God of Thunder, was in a bar.

*******

“Thor, you need to stop gallivanting to every tavern you come across.”

Loki’s scornful voice is like a saw, grating back and forth on Thor’s skull. He groans and rolls to smother his face into the furs of his bedding. There’s an ear-splitting screech as Loki drags open the thick red velvet drapes of his chambers to let in the light.

“Go ‘way,” Thor slurs, covering his face with large arms and half a pelt.

“I will,” Loki says, rustling through Thor’s belongings unnecessarily loud, “Once you’ve risen from your sorry state.”

Thor chucks a piece of pottery at Loki’s head.

It smashes against a wall instead of his annoying little brother and Thor grimaces, feeling sick and dizzy at the crash. Loki makes a small rueful _tsk_ sound.

“Where were you _this_ time? Wait, don’t answer. You don’t know, do you? Where I found you. I know not how you expected to drag yourself in such a stupor from that seedy little hole.”

Thor growls and then clenches his teeth, squeezing eyes shut. He does not need Loki’s lectures when he is in such a state.

“Only the _real_ drunkards congregate in the bars of Nidavellir, Thor. Dwarf drink is known to kill a man or two. You should not have gone, lest you be so proud to join the rest of the flies on a carcass.”

“Enough!” Thor grunts and rolls again, twisting the covers about him to try and ward off the outside world. The lurch is enough to make his head swim, nausea overcoming his senses. It’s a feeling he has come to know well, one that he makes sure of. “Brother, leave me. I can attend to mys—”

“Oh, yes, you can.” Loki stops by the edge of the bed and then Thor yelps, a vicious pinch to the soft arch of his foot sending him tumbling to the floor.

When he finally blinks, Loki is standing overhead, holding Thor’s helm.

Thor takes it with one hand and sees his wretched reflection in the shine of flawless silver. He lets it drop to the ground and groans, curling to rest his head against his knees.

“The ceremony. That was today then?” Thor whispers, not looking up.

“It was.”

“Brother,” Thor blinks back guilt. “I am sorry.”

“ _Thor._ ” A soft touch is placed on his shin and Thor lifts his head to see Loki kneeling beside him. “Do not apologize for that. I do not mind.”

“But it is important, Loki,” Thor swallows back the taste of shame. It is a bitter thing. “Father recognizing you as the most skilled sorcerer in Asgard— it is a tremendous occasion.”

“It is a fact well known without the fanfare.” Loki smiles in reply and Thor can feel the beginnings of a flush, the quickening in his heartbeat. But Loki’s face transforms as he frowns and raises a hand to press against Thor’s forehead.

“You are unwell,” Loki says, cool palm firm against Thor’s skin. Thor averts his eyes and presses his lips together. 

“I am loathe to admit you were right.”

Loki smirks and pulls back, “Now I _know_ you are not yourself.”

Thor chuckles and drags a rough hand through sleep-mussed hair. It does nothing to quell his pounding head and heart. 

“Tell me of your day,” Thor asks.

Loki cocks his head, a gleam in his eye as he reaches up and pets Thor’s hair, gently combing the tangles out, long fingers smoothing down. Thor fights to not lean into the touch, but he is starved for this type of affection, though he longs to be apart from it. He cannot deny his brother, not when Loki pulled him from a heap in that miserable realm of Nidavellir on the eve of his special day.

Loki speaks to him then, a long strain of words from an endlessly soothing tongue as he twists locks of Thor’s hair in between fingers. 

_How the maidens of the court must love that voice_ , Thor thinks as he watches his brother. How soft and genuine sounding it is. He cannot tell what is real or not, only focuses on the comforting feel of his brother’s touch.

“—much better. Now give us a kiss,” Loki says beseechingly with a wide smile, leaning in.

Thor jumps, knocking his head on the leg of the bed table and another unfortunate pot meets a splintered fate as it rolls off the edge. He stares, full out _stares_ , mouth falling to gape wide open.

“Come now,” Loki crawls forwards, expression positively dancing with amusement, his hands on either side of Thor’s splayed thighs. “One little peck—”

“Loki, stop,” Thor manages to laugh this away too, just as everything else. It’s all he can do. He pushes at Loki’s shoulder for enough space to haul himself up, sit dizzily atop his bed. His brother has always been a trickster and Thor himself joined in on the jokes sometimes. Sometimes whether he liked it or not.

But _this_ wasn’t funny.

He can feel Loki’s stare against his back and there is a long silent moment, before Loki laughs too. Thor watches from the corner of his eye as Loki picks up the winged helmet and places it carefully on the bedding. 

Thor feels guilt and anger weigh him down more than ever, growing with each soft boot click against the stones as Loki walks away. Because he knows what he’s supposed to do. Thor knows he should tell Loki to stay, don’t go, thank you— But what he actually wants to say are things that are too hard to say. So he says nothing at all.

His pulse is racing, lips tingling with desire. He wished Loki would just help... fix this. Fix him, put them back together again. Brothers who did not need each other so much that it hurt. Oh, it hurt, that Thor loved Loki so very much he felt there could be no one else.

“Father wishes your presence, when you are prepared.” Loki tells him from the doorway, and Thor looks back at him, unable to understand the odd current that threads between them. A bright line of light connecting two points unknown.

He doesn’t know what he’d do without Loki. He’s the only one who’s safe.

 _Please don’t make it into a joke,_ Thor thinks as the door shuts. Groans as his face hits the soft furs, hands holding on tight.

_Don’t leave me the way I am._


	6. Chapter 6

The Bifrost itself sits on the end of the rainbow bridge. Thor can see it, barely visible in the distance, a giant spinning globe of gold perched at the far orbit of Asgard’s edge. But they do not plan to make it that far just on foot.

Thor follows behind his parents, walking at a leisurely pace. He can faintly hear the metronome clink-clank of heavily armored guards hanging back. 

The family travels down the path made bright by a kaleidoscope of colours, a never-ending stream of tiny opals in motion, shining underfoot. He watches as his mother skips forwards, carefree and happy, long dusty-blond hair curling in the slight breeze. Odin brushes his cape tame and with arms locked behind his back, he proudly marches alongside her. The colours play off both their faces, lights Frigga’s dress up in a million points of light.

Loki’s green cape swishes against Thor’s calf.

It is seldom that they are all together like this, enjoying each other’s presence. The last day he recalled seemed so long ago. Maybe there were other days he’d forgotten in between, but he remembered one moment the best, right before Odin slipped into the first sleep Thor had ever had witnessed. 

The four of them, out riding in Mother’s favourite sections of the gardens, the pollen and fluff turned golden in the sunlight and drifting all around. Odin, riding proudly in front, setting the course. The long curls of Frigga’s hair, bouncing along with the horse. Thor, sticking long blades of grass into Loki’s ear. 

The fragrance of blossoms was so strong; they flavoured Thor’s memory into something unimaginably sweet. It made it all the more difficult to ever let that image go. Perhaps a part of him still lived there, in between the blossoms. But that was before the frost had come and dried it all up.

“Simply beautiful,” Frigga announces, arms thrown into the air as she swirls around to smile at her two sons. “Isn’t it? On clear nights, like this.”

Thor and Loki exchange an amused glance when Odin lets out a grunt, his best lecture voice making an appearance.

“Peace itself is a beautiful thing. And calm skies are a reflection of good spirits.” Odin looks over his shoulder, golden eyepatch glinting in the play of lights. “Eh, Thor?”

Thor can feel the flush come on despite of himself. Still, he laughs and shakes his head, patting Mjölnir which swings from his hip, “Aye, I am free of demons in my head.”

“He is free of a _mind_ in that head,” Loki snickers under his breath and Thor cuffs him on the ear with a fist.

“Fortunate that you may rule without a queen.” Frigga murmurs with laughing eyes that mirror Loki’s. She comes close to pat Thor on the cheek. Her head is cocked to the side with a sly look. “For you will remain demon-less longer yet.”

Odin snorts, “Thor has the hammer, which is far better a companion than any maiden.”

“Yes, Father!” Thor beams, hefting Mjölnir in agreement.

“Really now?” Frigga raises one eyebrow and huffs, turning away, but Odin catches her around the waist. 

“Of course its brilliance became but a shadow when I did meet you. It was pertinent to spurn its power in the face of your beauty.”

“Hah!” Frigga lets out a very loud mirthful sound and slaps at Odin’s shoulder. “Pray thee stop! Lest you say something more foolish.”

When Thor steals a glance at his brother, Loki has a sweet smile gracing his lips.

They follow a natural trajectory, automatically finding the path to walk side by side, behind their parents. A path so long followed, stretching for as far as time could take them. 

The bright stars of the clear Asgardian sky are reflected in the luminous road underneath their feet. Golds and greens and pinks and electric blues swirling together, bouncing off each other in a beautiful magic show. The rune-scribed disks of Thor’s armor hum in answer. Magic was power and knowledge all rolled into one.

He knows Loki can feel it too, that power, perhaps stronger than Thor. His green eyes are dancing with life. His brother does not taunt him with blown kisses or tricky smiles in this moment and Thor cannot help it. He is buoyant on this feeling on love, love for his brother. It comes so easily, slips out of him like overflowing water, spilling from a pair of cupped hands.

It doesn’t matter if the brothers have been fighting, arguing, or mistrustful of the other. To fall back into step beside Loki is inevitable as the roots and branches of Yggdrasil ever reaching out. They may curl into different spaces, but they will always stem from the same places, the same feelings, the same home.

There has been talk of Kingship.

A coronation is to take place. Thor is to become a King.

“You are brave, Thor.” Loki murmurs to him. They are both watching their joyful parents instead of looking at each other. It’s near impossible, to look each other in the eye over _this._ “To take on Kingship. I would find it too difficult, I think. There are so many facets of the world we do not yet understand.”

Thor snorts at the absurdity, “I know all there is to know of Asgard.”

Loki gifts him with a cock of the head, a deep curling smile on his lips. “Yes, but Asgard is not the jewel I speak of. There are other worlds out there, places the AllFather’s power has not touched. They are uncut, raw worlds. All of which only understand the language of war.”

“The old ways will change,” Thor tells him with determination. He’d make them all proud. “When I am King, we will stretch out, become bigger. A mighty army, mightier than ever before.”

“Asgardian warriors are much like Bilgesnipe.” Loki rolls his eyes. He tips his head to watch the sky and Thor does so as well, wondering vaguely what they were meant to see. 

“And what of the conquered creatures? Do you plan to invite such savagery into our home?”

Thor grins. 

“I think the Frost Giants of Jotunheim are much taken care of, Loki.” 

Loki snorts and slaps Thor on the arm, pushing him away enough so that they’re a length apart before they fall back, walking closer than before. That’s how it’s always been with them.

“You jest, Brother. Right. In this _New_ Asgard,” His eyebrows rise to disappear behind the low brim of his helm, “Where do I fit in?”

“Why, by my side of course.”

There is a moment of pause and Thor realizes he has misspoke.

“That is to say—”

Loki takes his elbow, “On the battlefield or in the palace?”

“Where you have always been.”

Loki laughs and hangs his head, letting go. “Following you.”

“Do you believe there’s a better place than this, out there?”

Thor has been to several other realms. He’s known the freedom they sell, the enticing exoticness, the adventure. But it pales in comparison, to the shine of Asgard, home.

And Loki looks at him then, with that distant look he sometimes gets. The one Thor doesn’t quite understand but wishes he could, to see just as far.

“I think the same as I have before. There are facets, Thor, and we must each find the ones in which we shine.”

******

“You _did_ promise to cut back on this drunken nonsense.”

“That was not an invitation for you to tag along as my keeper,” Thor grumbles at Loki in complaint.

Despite Loki’s dismissive shrug, Thor is in good spirits, shaking the rapidly melting snow from his cloak. It’s chilled outside and the curling arm of warmth inside the bar enfolds them quickly, washing away any lingering frost.

“Besides, a few pints are _customary_ after such an amazing kill.” Fandral laughs, slapping both brothers on their backs. Loki sneers slightly and Thor laughs it off. 

“Three long days and nights camped out in that frostbitten tent,” Hogun mutters under his breath.

“Yes, you did yourselves proud tonight,” Thor commends.

Fandral beams, “That I did, that I did. I shall add another trophy to the wall, at any rate.”

“Alas he still hunts for humbleness.” Sif sighs in relief, removing her hood as she enters behind them. “Volstagg is dragging the carcass ‘round the back for the butcher. Think he’ll save us a piece?”

“I care not, really. I am too full of pride.”

“I can think of what _else_ you are full of...” Hogun deadpans.

Thor shakes his head at his friends’ banter. 

Loki appropriates a table for the group and it isn’t long before good spirits are soaring, held aloft on the general raucous of enjoyable story-telling and fine food.

******

“Oh, she has the most wonderful bosom...” Volstagg simpers from behind a meat haunch, eyeing a fair maiden across the dining hall. The same woman he has been eyeing all night, obvious to all, as Volstagg’s adoring gaze seldom left his plate during mealtimes.

Sif rolls her eyes. “Do not be fooled. It is a rouse. Can’t you see the handkerchiefs that spill from her bustier? The cushion strapped to her hips? It is a man dressed as a lady.”

“WHAT!” Volstagg shouts.

“I hear it can be a form of play.” Sif shrugs, and the men of the table stare openly at her. 

“Do not ask me how I’ve obtained this knowledge.” She cringes, “Please.”

Volstagg is blinking owlishly, tilting his head sideways in awe, as though he expects the woman to transform before his very eyes if he catches her in the right light. 

“No... It cannot be.”

“Be it true or false, she is lovely to look at,” Fandral puts in, throwing a cleaned bone down into his plate. “Though Volstagg’s dear face is by far more entertaining, ha!”

Volstagg slaps at the table. “Nonsense!”

“I tell you it is true!”

“I don’t believe it!”

“Then by all means, follow ‘ _her’_ to the water chambers...” Hogun suggests.

“You are quiet, Brother.” Loki says under his breath, tapping a finger against Thor’s knee under the table. 

Thor grimaces and chews slower, trying to draw out the time before he’s expected to reply. 

Loki smirks, gaze sliding towards Volstagg’s recent questionable interest, and then his gaze pointedly returns to settle on Thor with a deep, probing question visible in those green eyes. He snickers and leans to speak into Thor’s ear so that no one else may hear. “Is it because _‘she’_ is your...sort?” One black eyebrow jumps. “Jealous?”

There are no qualms about it as Thor quickly cuffs Loki on the back of the head. 

“Ackk! What was that for?” Loki complains as he rubs the tender spot. “That hurt.”

Thor’s looking around suspiciously, but no one in the bar pays them any mind, “It is...” He stops and then speaks louder.

“It is impolite to speak of ladies that way.”

Loki’s mouth falls open. Sif and the Warriors laugh in earnest.

“Thor,” Fandral is chuckling and brandishes a fresh pitcher of ale, “You are much too straight-laced tonight. Here, another.”

“He will not,” Loki scowls and pushes the proffered frothing tankard away.

“ _He_ can make his own decisions.” Thor scowls fiercely and grabs up the closest drink, which happened to be the whole pitcher. 

“Don’t,” Loki starts but Thor quells this with a furious look that only dissolves as he tips the brim of the pitcher to his lips.

“Know your place, Brother.” Thor says through clenched teeth and then he is gulping, eyes closed, relishing in the pleasant warmth and fizz that pours down his throat.

“Excellent!” Volstagg crows and procures his own pitcher, ready to join the fray. 

“Yes, do that,” Loki tells him as he stands quickly, pushing his chair back, “I’m sure if you drink enough, it will not matter that your damsel is readjusting her false breast.”

“And where do you go?” Thor demands, anger bubbling up.

“Oh. Nowhere important,” Loki replies nastily, “Just seeing to a bit of fun.”

Loki stalks away from the table and Thor is not sorry to see him go. His brother is probably off to be with some woman. He always seems to go off with some woman, some faceless maiden who Thor has never seen by her face. Except for that one time, across the dancehall, when he’d received Mjölnir. 

Thor drinks deeply, sorely wishing he could drop this wall of propriety he’s built over the years. But even drink has not broken this moral down, for Thor is nothing if not stubborn. His friends are banging away a tempo with their fists against the table and Thor lets the rhythm overtake him, guide him, until the last drops of ale are gone. 

He wishes he did not have care of who he admired. But that is all he cares about. Who.

Across the room, there is a spark of magic and a thump as a wad of cloth and a plump round fruit roll out of a woman’s shirt. She shrieks in dismay.

******

“My word... Prince Thor?” A hesitant voice cuts through Thor’s haze as he slams an empty tankard down. “Is that you?”

“Eh?” Thor belches, scratching his head, and looks over his shoulder. “What?”

“My liege!” The face put to the voice is familiar and Thor squints, tilting his head.

“It’s me,” The man replies earnestly, standing a respectable distance away from the table littered with glasses. Across from Thor, Sif is groaning drunkenly into the pillow made by her folded arms and the Warriors Three have congregated by a booth full of young maidens celebrating some cause or another. 

“I am Dagur. I trained you how to ride horses, when you were small. Don’t you recall?” Dagur’s smile turns nostalgic and soft and Thor does remember this. Very clearly.

“I do,” He says and at Dagur’s bright grin, Thor’s heart lightens. “Of course I do! Sit down, sit. How are you?”

“I am good, my liege.” Dagur replies, tentatively taking a seat. Thor realizes he has a cane now, to aid a slight limp. 

“Nonsense. It has always been just ‘Thor’ for my favourite teacher! What has kept you busy these years?”

Dagur laughs. “I work further out of the city now, in the rural end. The Allfather found an excellent job for me there.” There is a rueful look in those dark eyes and Thor vividly remembers how unfair it was that this man was sent away.

“What are you doing here?” Thor asks respectfully.

“Oh, enjoying a pint.” Dagur gestures to the table. “You seem to be enjoying yourself as well.”

Thor takes notice of the scattered tankards and pitchers and feels a thread of embarrassment. Knows he is not really himself on nights like this. But Dagur does not seem to take offence. He orders the two of them another round, and Dagur happily clinks glasses with him before they down the drinks with deep gulps.

Thor exhales, wiping the back of his mouth with his arm. 

Dagur is leaning chin against palm, elbow heavy against the table. His kind face is slack with the buzz of ale, a comforting friendly sight. Thor tilts his tankard at the man politely.

“You so enjoyed your lessons. Tell me, do you still... ride?”

Thor sits back, languishing in his chair and slightly confused. “But, of course. My steed is tied just outside.”

“No, no, no, Thor.” Dagur’s grin fades quickly into a more intent expression. He touches Thor’s knee. “I meant... Well, I still give lessons, you know?”

Thor just barely restrains a surprised gasp, fire spreading across his skin at the feel of the older man’s hand, sliding up his thigh. A sure hand, the same which Thor had watched growing up, tending to the horses, lifting him up to the saddles. There is a raised bump, a scar maybe, on the meaty heel of his palm and its hardness draws a tight lace of excitement in Thor. Makes his blood rush.

He bites his lip and their eyes meet.

“You have grown up so strong and handsome, Thor.” Dagur tells him slowly, deliberately complimentary.

Thor blinks then snorts with a smug feeling creeping up his spine, “I have _always_ been handsome.” 

Dagur laughs heartily and Sif, who had fallen asleep, jerks in her slumber, grumbling.

“We should not disturb her, the night grows old. I have a room upstairs until I go back to the farm tomorrow, would you accompany me?”

******

He did not mean for this to happen.

Thor is awoken from his groggy bleary-eyed state as Sif bursts into the room, heels clicking a harsh rhythm across the old wooden floors. It’s still dark out, only been a few hours, dawn not yet ready to paint the sky. There is still time to sleep.

“Thor, get up.” She wrings the furs from his head and then gasps, shrill, gives a moan of despair. “Oh, I did not need to see that. I didn’t. My eyes...”

“Mhgrhh...”

“ _Thor,_ ” She admonishes, voice much too loud.

“Did you find him?” Volstagg calls from the door, louder still and spurs a steady pounding in Thor’s head. “Oh, _please_ tell me we have. Loki is going to cut off our—”

“Dear me,” Fandral clutches at his chest, coming into the room. 

“Yes,” Sif replies. “He is not clothed!”

“I can see that.” Fandral’s head tilts sideways. “Oh feast your eyes, Sif, you prude.”

“Me!?”

And all of a sudden Thor is surrounded, a shivering confused thing amongst the empty bedding. He tugs at a pelt to cover his head yet again. Sif yanks it away.

“Oh, hmm... Oh. Uh. Dear _me._ ” Fandral kneels by the bed and gently takes Thor’s face between gloved hands. Then slaps him a few times.

“Thor. Thor?”

“What!” Thor grunts, squinting his eyes. “You dare wake me—”

“Oh yes, you. Wake up. Wake up now. Now, now, now—”

“Too late,” Hogun warns and then there is a surge of magic that makes Thor’s hair stand on end. 

The static frizzles against his skin and Thor is awake. More than awake, he’s sobered by it as he’s thrown onto his back while his friends go flying against the crooked walls of the old tavern. 

Loki comes stalking into the room, his narrowed calculating eyes surveying every surface, every object, as if he expects a monster to come lunging out of the small blockish shadows.

The sight rips away the fog that’s been draped over Thor’s mind.

“Brother,” Thor gasps and immediately covers himself.

“Thor,” Loki returns coldly, pacing. His indifferent tone sends a shot of guilt straight through Thor’s gut.

They watch Loki warily, watch him slow and then stop. He presses steepled fingers to his lips in thought. 

“What you see here is evidence of an act of violence against the Crown Prince. I suggest that you _find him_ , the one called Dagur.” Loki says pensively. The Warriors snap to attention at that, the express command delivered in a King’s voice. Ruthless.

“Track down that piece of filth and present his damned soul before the authorities for his transgressions. No man in Asgard can take what he wants without penance.”

Thor gapes disbelievingly as the Warriors Three exchange determined glances before quickly filing out the door.

Sif stays by Thor’s side, places a firm hand on his shoulder. The action seems to give Loki pause.

Thor swallows, realizing Loki and Sif are glaring at each other.

“You are not needed here, Loki,” Sif addresses with ill-hidden contempt. “You may go. Thor is fine, see? There was no need for such a scene. The Warriors Three and I can—”

“—Cannot take care of Thor. Not as I have done for longer than your pathetic camaraderie.” Loki stalks forward, a cruel twitchy smirk creeping up as he shakes his head. “You think too highly of yourself if you look down on a Prince.”

Sif immediately stiffens with a chagrined expression and she hesitantly lets her hand slip from Thor’s shoulder. “I... I am sorry, my liege.”

“Loki,” Thor starts but Loki does not pay him any mind.

“Yes,” Loki agrees with Sif. “You _are_ sorry. Now go, and make sure your bumbling friends do not breathe a word of this.”

“We will tell no gossip,” Sif grits out, her high offence obvious.

“See that you do not.”

There’s a wave of magic and Thor’s hit in the face with his clothing. He pulls the items on quickly, trying not to pause as he comes across the odd bruise or red scratch. Covers himself up. But seeing the slight hook of smugness catch the corner of Loki’s lips sets the pit of Thor’s stomach _boiling with rage._

“Brother,” Loki gathers up his proud red cape from the floor and Thor lumbers out of the pile of furs. 

“Loki,” Thor grunts, fists clenching, fear clenching harder. “Loki, I do not know what I’ve—”

Loki’s eyes are slits and his voice a hiss when he says, “We are leaving.”

Thor bares his teeth, incensed, “I told you not to accompany me.”

And then there is an abrupt lurch under his feet and they are suddenly standing outside in the back of the establishment next to a frozen-over well. Thor shivers, uncomprehending, and looks around wildly realizing Loki has used one of his tricks to magic them outside. 

“I have been searching for you all night,” Loki says quietly, just barely a whisper above the cold winter winds that stir. 

Thor stiffens.

“Thor,” Loki reaches out and Thor flinches, but the hand that closes around his own is fierce in its strength. “Take us home.”

So Thor calls for Mjölnir, which comes crashing through the bar’s brick wall. And they fly.

******

They enter the palace in silence, windblown and red-faced, the clouds thickening overhead in the sky.

******

Loki leads Thor back to his chambers, swinging open the heavy door with one hand.

Thor half-expects them to lay back against the bedding, like when they were children, like back when he’d first heard Odin’s scornful words. Back when he’d learnt exactly what he was and how it would eventually destroy him. This is all like some vicious circle, leading him back here to his room, caught. Loki’s hand on his shoulder the only tether to rationale.

He’s angry. So _angry_ , and the furious shakes keep coming. Makes Thor thrum with the need to smash something, ram a dagger through a foe and spill blood, crush that invisible enemy’s skeleton until he can feel bones not his own rattle with each step. He’s mad, so _mad._

“Thor—”

Thor immediately grabs a bookcase and tosses it to the floor.

Loki flinches as it splinters against the stones, what few books housed on the unfortunate thing are fluttering and torn. Fine pottery and personal trinkets, broken and gone.

“Temper, temper.” 

Thor snarls, pacing wildly.

“ _RWARGHH!_ ” He rips a giant tapestry from the wall.

“THOR!” Loki yells.

“Do not _start_ , Brother!” Thor growls, spilled belongings crunching under his boots. “I need not hear your lectures, for surely Father will hear about this soon enough and—”

“Cease your bellows!” 

Loki stamps forward and with a wave of his hand the mess of Thor’s chambers is vanished. The sight sets Thor’s stomach clenching in fury, that his righteous anger can be so cleanly wiped away. As if it didn’t exist. And Thor burns to destroy something else. Mjölnir vibrates warningly from where he’s dropped it by the door.

“No one will hear of it, save for your friends. And they will not talk.” Now it is Loki who paces, sharp boot heels clacking against the floor. “As for Dagur, oh, I know spells. Memory erasers. And that disgusting letch will know them _intimately_ —”

“Loki, you harm _ANYONE_ on my behalf and WE WILL HAVE WORDS—”

“Then I will _WIN!_ ” Loki snaps, breathing harshly, “You are clumsy at words, Thor. You couldn’t talk me out of something if you tried.”

Thor inhales deeply and the sudden burn of air inflames his rage. How he hates being _WRONG._

“It’s just...” Thor drags vicious hands through his hair, pulling in frustration. He paces anew with Loki following close behind. Faced with someone willing to listen intently, Thor is at a loss with what to say. He hates when Loki is correct.

“It’s not...” Thor starts, uncertainly, “Normal. Not _right_... But I, it’s never gone so far. I don’t even remember.” Thor gulps, swallowing down the shame that rises like bile. “It’s not right. To take pleasure in—”

“You’re not wrong, Thor.” 

Loki’s arms wrap around his waist from behind and Thor freezes. Confused at the action, confused by the sudden crash of awe that hits him, with this simple touch. Loki’s voice is low in between his shoulder blades and the embrace tightens, Loki’s vambraces cutting in. The warring pain and pleasure of the sensation causes Thor’s heart to bounce violently within his chest.

“If you are, then what does that make anyone else who has ever felt that way? Are so many people wrong?” Loki shakes his head, forehead sweeping the question’s answer into Thor’s back. “So, you see, you can’t be. You’re not.”

There is an unbelievable hard lump in Thor’s throat. He turns in his brother’s embrace, to look into his face.

“You won’t _say_ anything, will you?”

“Who would believe me?” Loki replies.

“That’s not the same thing as—”

“Don’t worry...” Loki whispers, and it is with a sort of oddly determined vehemence that’s rare to hear from his brother’s silver tongue, “I will protect you. No man will ever be caught touching you again.”

Thor lets that sentiment sink in. 

He’s so used to being the protector, the warrior, that he’s straining against the need to rebuff Loki. Reject the help. But he can’t do that. He won’t do that. Thor brings a hand up to cup the crown of Loki’s head, keeping him close. Can’t help but smile and even chuckle, just a little bit, at the irony. It’s not something he’s prone to noticing, but in this instance, it’s okay.

“It seems a man is still touching me,” Thor says.

He can feel Loki’s answering grin against the side of his neck. 

“It appears so.”

Thor bites his lip. Leans his cheek atop Loki’s soft hair. Loki is not to be dislodged, keeps his arms locked tight around Thor. It is not something Thor can even hope to deny. His hand smoothes down Loki’s warm back and Loki nuzzles against his neck. All of a sudden Thor has to blink furiously to keep the blurriness in his eyes at bay.

Loki pulls back and draws a soft thumb across Thor’s stubbled cheek, his chin. It’s all too exciting, makes him too lightheaded, too stupid, and Thor presses his lips together tightly before Loki can touch those too.

“Shh,” Loki lets the hush of his affectionate breath ghost over Thor’s mouth and thumbs at his lower lip until Thor relents, lips parting to drink in a much needed gulp of air.

Loki presses a quick, shallow kiss to his lips.

“Uh, Loki...” Thor gulps again, “You have a very strange way of helping.”

The smirk on Loki’s mouth is positively _evil._

“I’m not any good at it, I know.” 

Loki kisses him again.

Thor tries to jerk back but his limbs are sluggish, like wading through water. There’s a soft, unthinkably soft, lick against his lips. The hot touch of tongue against tongue. Thor gasps and Loki holds him in place with steady arms linked around his neck.

“Thor, come on,” Loki murmurs against his mouth. “Kiss me.”

“I...don’t—” Thor shudders with want but Loki holds him still, cool touch a balm against the sick heat that has sprung up along Thor’s skin.

“You can be you,” Loki tells him, rubbing their noses together torturously slow. His spiky black eyelashes are fanned low. Loki finds Thor’s hand and a thumb strokes his palm, a strong line across the raised scar there. 

His voice is low, so quiet, a secret, “You’re with _me._ You can be you.”

Thor exhales and cups Loki’s neck. His grip tightens and Loki lets himself be pulled back so that Thor can see him clearly. Thor just holds him there. 

“I know,” Thor tells him simply, unable to articulate all that he wants to say. Looking into those eyes, he rests his forehead against Loki’s for just a moment. And Loki tilts up, soft lips searching, but Thor turns away. Gives him two firm pats on the cheek. He may as well have slapped his brother, for the hurt confused expression that blossoms upon his face. 

Thor gently breaks them apart and Loki’s eyebrows turn up.

“You don’t have to try anymore,” Thor mumbles.

The reason Thor loves Loki beyond anyone else is because of this. 

Because he is doing it for Thor. 

Because Loki is the only one who has never shamed him for his difference. Has always acted as though he doesn’t see one at all. Out of everyone, it has been only his brother who never looked at Thor differently. Always by his side, always there to protect him, even when Thor didn’t want it. _Especially_ when he didn’t want it. 

Loki, the person-shaped reason why Thor is mighty. Loki, his love and brother, one in the same.

So Thor feels all the more guilty, for thinking these things about Loki. How much he wants to erase the lines that have been drawn so deeply between them, around them, tying them together until there’s no room to move. 

There’s this unreadable look in Loki’s dilated eyes before he nods once and keeps his chin dipped low. 

They do not attempt to speak.

They stand there, in front of the window until the first drops of rain are tapping on the glass. They watch until its pounding, rattling with chunks of hail, and a white stripe of lightning rips through the night in the far away distance without a sound.

Thunder drumrolls across the sky.

It’s with an odd lurch Thor realizes nothing will ever live up to that sweet press of lips with his brother. He knows he can’t have it in the way he wants, that it’s wrong and could never be. But at least he knows Loki would never leave him, if he doesn’t say it out loud. They’re brothers. They’ll always be together. 

The acceptance of this fact follows so naturally, yet still knocks the breath out of Thor, to even think of it, to even realize what it means.

For Thor is always going to be this way. Now, and for the rest of his life. 

And life is so very long.

******

More often than not, the one you love and the one who loves you are never the same person.

******

He does not indulge in drink as much as before.

That part is behind him, so far behind, pushed away by Time’s hands. It is only when Thor is throwing his customary goblet into the fire, on the cusp of his coronation, that he realizes how far he’s come.

“Another, sir?” The attendant lifts his tray of wine but before Thor can answer, he shrieks, spilling the red liquid against the golden floor. Magical snakes curl around themselves, sinister and intoxicated.

“Waste of good wine, Brother.” Thor says, greeting a smiling thinking Loki who slinks into the room.

“No trick is ever wasted on you,” Loki answers, cocking his head. 

The roar of the awaiting crowd is audible even inside the palace, and nerves start to spin into a large uncertain knot in Thor’s gut. Perhaps all of Asgard is out there. But he’s glad, so glad, that Loki has come to be by his side in this moment.

“Loki, thank you,” Thor is prompted to say, gratefulness from an overflowing heart. “You saw how far I’d fallen into a rut. You fixed me.”

Loki pays him a puzzled look, but Thor knows very well that Loki always understands what he means. His brother does not smile as he speaks.

“I always thought of guilt as such a waste of emotion. It keeps you from living in the moment, pushes you from where you may stand. Pushes you far away.” 

Loki steps closer.

“I’m glad you’re in good spirits Thor, but I did not _fix_ you. You’ve always been fine.”

“But I wasn’t,” Thor protests, unsure of what else he could say. How could he ever explain it all, even to the person who understood him the most? As if he can sense Thor’s indecision, Loki sighs and smiles, placing a comforting hand upon Thor’s arm to bring him back to reality, the moment. 

“There’s a difference, you know.” Loki instructs with that know-it-all flare he’s so practiced at. His grip tightens. “Between guilt and shame. We feel guilty for what we do. We feel shame for what we are.”

Loki tilts his chin up and he looks so golden, in this light, the reflection of the walls bouncing off his pale skin. Thor takes a deep breath, places his own hand heavily atop Loki’s on his arm. They’re a pair, the two of them. In all the stars, in all the universe, there would be no one like them. And Thor is so very glad of this, because he’s certain one set is bad enough. 

“No one can help who they are.” Loki continues. Puts a comforting cool hand upon Thor’s cheek. “And you have done _nothing_ wrong.”

Thor savours the sound of Loki’s smooth voice, low and almost a whisper, like this is just another secret that Thor has never known.

“In truth, maybe it is I, who has done wrong...” And Loki pauses, a moment of uncertainty, “Thor, please, never doubt that I love you.”

The lump in his throat throbs, beats, as though his heart is trying to escape. As though he’s trying to speak his heart, but can’t, because there are no words that can match this feeling, this longing, this love. It is natural then, to lean down and wrap his arms around his brother’s back, folding carefully, holding him as tightly as he dares.

“Is that sincere?” Thor asks under his breath, even though he knows the answer. Has always known, when Loki was telling the truth. 

Loki pulls back just enough to angle Thor’s face down and he places the softest, most chaste kiss against the corner of Thor’s mouth. It says what words cannot, this kiss, this tiny press of lips. Because words can change. 

It says only what Thor needs to hear.

“I swear.”

******

It is after this when the Frost Giants infiltrate Asgard and Thor believes turnabout is fair play. The thing about that though, is that things have never gone simply for Thor.

And he winds up on Midgard, banished.


	7. Chapter 7

“I cannot believe it. I won’t.”

“Pray your eyesight is well, dear Fandral.” Hogun intones, “But I don’t see Thor here. Do you?”

“Oh shut up,” Fandral replies, shifting and gently kneading his newly healed flesh. “You know what I mean. And stop that infernal chewing, Volstagg, I could hear your gluttony from Valhalla’s doorstep!”

Volstagg growls and tosses an empty platter to the floor.

There is a silence following the hollow metallic crash. A silence which is laden with desolate thoughts, hanging overtop the hall as thick clouds, the impending downpour punctuated only by the heavy gnawing of Volstagg’s mighty jaws against a haunch of meat. 

The Warriors Three and Lady Sif each claim a space of their own in the deserted hall, wandering in small circles, looking lost.

It’s pathetic.

“Asgard is well aware of the fragile peace with Jotunheim,” Hogun mutters. “All it takes is one small tremble, a crack in the ice, and an avalanche can come crashing down upon us.” 

Not so stupid, but in essence, _wrong._

Fandral slaps his bare chest in resolve. “If it’s war they want, then I am ready to fight!” 

So self-adsorbed.

Hogun hisses, eyes darting to the side. “But Thor is the Crown Prince, and he charged into enemy territory...”

Fandral sputters, whirling on his heel, “Are you saying this was all Thor’s fault?”

That _is_ the question, isn’t it?

“It is unthinkable,” Sif fills the void, sounding contrite. “To us, at least. I do not understand the Allfather’s intentions.”

Loki smirks behind his veil of magic. Were punishment the Allfather’s intention, he’d have banished the proper son.

He sighs, gliding across the stone floor with silent long steps. That is the problem with Thor’s little friends. That has always been the problem, with everyone.

No one ever bothers to look farther than Thor.

They never once take notice of the one who stands behind. Loki, the crack in the ice.

It was never his intention for Thor to be banished. That was not his aim at all, when he’d snuck the Frost Giants into the palace. Coronation ceremonies were just so much more fun with a bit of mayhem. 

But perhaps it’s better this way, with Thor out of the picture. 

His absence will bore a hole in the heart of Asgard. They will miss him, and he will be called back. Loki can see this so plainly, as sure as the thunder which follows the lightning. It’s funny, in a knife-sharp way. 

Loki threads lazily between the arguing warriors, mouth twitching in amusement as he cleverly sleuths out a path. Oh, but so many wrongs have sprung up, like disgusting weeds underfoot. He has a lot of tending to do, to make things right.

“I won’t discuss Thor’s merits. I won’t hear it.” Fandral spurns, face turning a slow red in denial.

“You ought to be the last to suggest _that_ ,” Sif spits, eyes narrowed. 

“How dare you—” The blond sucks in a quick angry breath, averting his defiant gaze. His next words come low and aggrieved, with a sort of pain that clearly stems from guilt. “I’m not... I’m not _close-minded_ anymore. Sif.”

Sif stops short, blinking wildly, mouth twisted. 

Such an ugly creature, really, Loki thinks as he tilts his head, watching. 

“Leave it,” Hogun instructs.

“No,” Sif shoots back, “I want to hear this. I want to hear it from his very lips.”

“Now is not the _time._ ” Fandral rolls his eyes, clawing at the air with both hands and a loud groan of exasperation. His hand whips out, “Volstagg would you be _quiet!_ ” 

“You dare knock the meal from my hand?” Volstagg snarls, getting into Fandral’s face. “This is how I think!”

“Say then what you think! For you’ve thought five boars worth!” 

The two sneer at each other, muscles tensed and toe to toe. The four warriors stand in a tight circle, all braced in the heat of the argument, the tense moment, the teetering edge of a fierce conflict. They are not above fighting each other, after all. They are simple people, beneath the weapons and armor. They are an optical illusion, appearing great only because they group together around a shining star. Thor.

Loki watches all this with a detached sort of anger, perched atop a dais in the corner. It makes no difference to him, how they fall apart. He’s just curious, in truth, what faults they could find in his brother. It’s a sort of double-edged sword, really, he thinks as he runs a gentle thumb down the raised scar on his palm. 

He’s always been curious of his brother. 

“Which one of you _told?_ ” Volstagg asks in one guttural breath.

“What are you talking about?” Fandral retorts, confusion washing through his features.

Volstagg wipes his mouth on the back of one sleeve with a rough swipe, brows pinched together in a scowl. “You know of what I speak.”

Sif gasps, “Impossible. I would never... You don’t think the Allfather has cast Thor from Asgard for _that?_ It was ages ago. We took care of it.”

Volstagg swallows.

“It is the only reason I can surmise.” 

Oh. Loki licks his upper lip, cocking his head. There’s a stab of disgust and anger deep in his gut. That was curious too.

Fandral lets out a stale bark of laughter and picks up a discarded plate. “Then eat some more, because your thinking has not yet seen completion. It is as Sif says, impossible. I’ve not told a soul.”

“Nor I,” Hogun grumbles, pensive. “But there was one other.”

Loki’s mouth twitches. 

Fandral snorts. “What a jest. You didn’t see his _face_ , that night— at the tavern when he saw Thor—...”

“I _did_ ,” Hogun says. “I did. It was—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Volstagg interrupts. “Thor wouldn’t... He would not hear of it if we accused his brother.”

The hall slams into a deathly silence at this, the weight of the words crushing down. 

“Heimdall will hear us,” Sif whispers. 

“Then you should go.”

The warriors freeze, seizing up to look wildly at the entranceway. Loki smiles, drawing a finger down the spiral of a golden column as he walks in, visible to them. “You should go to a place where Heimdall is wont to ignore.”

“Loki,” Sif is obviously seething, her contempt barely held back. “You’ve been slinking about, I see.”

“Only coming to have consoling words with Thor’s quaint friends,” Loki replies, tipping his chin. “But I see you’ve consoled yourselves enough, with your traitorous talk.”

The fear that flashes across their faces is breathtaking. Loki relishes in it, just for a moment, before sliding closer. “You should go to Midgard. That’s where he is, after all.”

“Midgard?” Fandral scoffs, appalled.

Sif’s eyes widen. “It is forbidden by the King.”

“Is it?” Loki smiles, amused at the way these simpletons think. “All the more reason, for I cannot go myself.”

“So you’d let us do your dirty work?” Volstagg infers. 

Loki must pause here. He must, lest he start laughing. What would they think of him _then?_ He presses his lips together, corners of his mouth tugging. Eyebrows raising once, twice. 

_He’s_ the one who has done the dirty work. How filthy he is, from what he’s done for Thor.

They have no idea.

“You know what my brother is,” Loki says and lets it hang in the air, lets it sink into their thick skulls. If he’s lucky, maybe the sentiment will even take. “Does it truly bother you, after all this time?”

Their silent stupidity greets the question, though Loki did not expect much else. He doubts they’ve given it the thought it truly deserves. What Thor deserves, is someone who can understand. Someone who can answer that question, with the only answer that matters.

“It doesn’t,” Loki spurs on, hating the way his voice becomes just a bit lower, more rough. But it works all the same, makes Thor’s friends take heed. “It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t bother. It’s not a _bother_ , to be burdened with knowledge that has no bearing on your own small, miserable lives.”

Is that too much? 

Sif is glaring once more, the Warriors Three squirming with defiance. Loki closes his eyes, smiling as he places a hand upon his chest. Over his heart, clutching. 

“Thor is Thor. He is banished for his recklessness, his rash assumption, and failure to keep the peace. Not for some silly facet of his design, of which none are worthy to see its shine. I love him more dearly than any of you. I have gone to him where you have not, and I would go now, except for one fact.”

Loki opens his eyes, smile pulling up into a proud smirk.

“The Allfather sleeps. Until his slumber wanes, you are mine to command. I am your King.”

******

The water is hot as it sprays down in tiny pinprick jets against his skin.

 _Mortal_ skin.

It doesn’t feel real, in a way. 

Thor lets out a soft groan, scratching blunt fingertips deep into his scalp. 

The oddly fragrant liquid soaps run down his chest in thick frothy streams. The fresh scent and suds rid him of the dirt amongst his long hair. Hair which sticks to his face in curled tendrils and tangles between his eyelashes. He blinks against the ticklish dripping strands and then closes his eyes, mouth tightening and hands dropping to lean heavily against the cool tiles.

Midgard is known for being a place where you could easily lose your way. 

And this banishment to such a dusty desert makes the sentiment seem simpler yet. 

After being stung, smashed, restrained and injected with poison, Thor finally lets himself think of it. In this welcomed moment of respite. Despite the fact that he is now in the company of three mortals.

Midgard is a strange place. An aberration to all the realms Thor has seen. The people here are weak, small things, confused and denying of all Thor knows as true. They see things as so much bigger than what they really are. 

Thor views this world’s nature as a coin-realm, tipped on its side and spinning to create multiple images, the illusion of a globe.

A perpetual state of chance.

He needs a second chance.

The last of the soap suds froth and pop as they disintegrate down the drain in between his bare feet. Thor stares, rivulets of water as thick as fingers curling down from his chin and elbows and the backs of his thighs. He licks his lips, long parched from the crackling heat of the outside world, turned supple in the humidity of this exotic bath. 

He’s used to languishing, sitting lazily in the hot pools of the palace, steam rising up until everything cooled. Thor has bathed standing up before, of course, under waterfalls and trickling streams in the midst of adventures. The steady heat of this is something different though. As the poisonous smells of the mortal’s healing center wash away, Thor is left under the warm beat, pulse thumping wildly.

He’s afraid, in a way.

And of course, that’s when the anger floods in. 

What is to come to pass? What of his _coronation?_

Thor is a _King._ He’s fairly certain that the Allfather would not send him away forever; otherwise he would not have thrown Mjölnir through the Bifrost as well. 

And it mattered little if Odin thought him vain or cruel... Thor knew he _was_ those things, in some regard. No warrior went without some selfishness. It was inevitable, really, for such things to be born in the wake of violence. Besides, if Asgard was to face against Jotunheim... It would be laughable to even think of fighting without him! 

Thor is strongest in all of Asgard. Odin _needs_ him.

Doesn’t he?

Thor shudders at the chill of the thought. Living as a mortal, untold and unknowing of the battles his Aesir brethren would rush into, find victory, and conquer. It’s a heady feeling, winning. Thor has not been able to envision life without the fantasy of conquest, of making himself better, and now, it’s been so easily stripped away. How could he ever do that on Midgard? He imagines living here, a human, a short boring life until he’s to be smoked down by a long boring death. 

The water feels scalding on his suddenly shivering body.

Thor only hopes that he can find Mjölnir soon and go home. He’s _determined._ Until then, he’s stuck here, he knows that. But it does nothing to squelch the listlessness in him, the lost feeling he gets, without the hammer. Loki always said he relied on it too much.

Loki.

Thor inhales sharply, sucking in a deep drag of humid air. Loki would know what to do. He would stay here with Thor, help get Mjölnir back. 

How _dare_ his Father punish him, all for some wretched Frost Giants? What did Odin care of them, more than his own son?

Thor bites his bottom lip sharply, squeezing eyes shut. Wouldn’t it be so much better, to be punished for something more deserving punishment? Unbidden, the image of his brother flashes behind Thor’s closed eyes. 

This is something he only does when he is alone, and oh, how _alone_ he is now. 

“Mhng,” Thor softly catches a grunt in his throat as he takes himself in hand. 

It’s not that he’s aroused, only the need for comfort blazes forth so strong, he can’t help but give in. No one but Thor knows what he thinks about, when he strokes himself, wet fingers curled in a firm squeeze. No one knows the raised scar on his palm brings about more pleasure, a promise. No one knows how much he loves his brother.

_I will never love another as I do you._

No one can ever know.

It’s painful, this love. It tears him up inside, a jagged bolt of lightning, hot and dangerous, dancing up and down his spine. In the back of his mind. Thor licks then bites at his lower lip, plump from the steam. He needs to touch it, that feeling. Because he’s not allowed to have it, not in the way he wants. He’s got to make sure it’s real. It doesn’t feel real, in this mortal body. 

But there must be some reason out there, somewhere, to explain the way he is.

He groans unabashedly, stroking harder, slower, his wrist moving in deep rolls as he jerks himself. It’s hot, so hot, the water pouring over and sluicing down his curved back to spill off his hips. 

“ _Hngff_ ,” Thor gasps across the back of his forearm, braced against the wall. Oh, but it’s this water. This rainfall, that reminds him the most. 

Of Loki’s face, drenched from a storm, dark hair plastered to his forehead. Water-logged clothes, wrinkled and translucent, clinging to Loki’s shoulders and chest. The squelch of thick leathers, rubbing together as Loki walks to hold Thor’s face with wet palms.

Thor groans and smashes his mouth against his arm to drown out the sound. Imagines it’s Loki’s mouth, hard against his own. Tries to remember the feel of Loki’s tongue. His strokes quicken.

It had only been the one time, the only time, and it seems like a dream. The memory is long stretched thin, pulled in all directions by Thor’s conflicted emotions. He only truly remembers being angry, jealous all night, and then angry again. And then—

“Ohh—nnngh,” Thor bites his arm, fist clenching. He’s close, so close. His cock, throbbing with a pulse that gallops through his veins. He has to let go, only to slick through the water, reach behind and—

Slide one finger deep inside.

Thor gasps loudly at the burn, the stretch. He thrusts in and out, toes curling and his fist slams against the wall which cracks, power spidering out in strange designs. He presses his forehead against the tiles, letting harsh gusts of breath wash over their cool plain surfaces, fogging up and fading away.

Banishment.

Thor knows he’s had this coming.

It doesn’t stop him from coming.

******

“Oh, _Jaaaane!_ ” Lilts a young female voice, “He’s walking into oncoming traffic again!”

Thor pauses at this comment, ignoring the loud blaring of a metallic beast grumbling at his right to contemplate the trio of small mortals. His forehead crinkles in confusion as the tiny woman named Jane captures him by the arm with two frenetic hands.

“Okay, uh, that’s a _car_ , Thor,” Jane says this chidingly, “Try not to step in front of them. We’re just...” She tugs his arm and seems flustered when he does not so much as budge from her effort, “Just, let’s go over here now.”

Thor does not fuss and follows. 

The smooth black roads are a contrast to the gold gleam of Asgard, the dust and heat dropping down on him like a scratchy blanket. There’s the trickster glint of mirages in the distance and the ground grumbles under his feet each moment the mortals ride by on their noisy contraptions. Thor squints, looking upwards at the smooth curling blue sky that hugs the low-level buildings breaking up the horizon in a dull blocky scatter.

“Are you sure you didn’t give him a concussion?” The old man asks, peering anxiously and Jane swats him in the shoulder with a hiss.

“Erik!”

Thor chuckles at this display, strongly reminded of Sif, “I am fine.”

“Yes, you are,” The one named Darcy murmurs under her breath.

Jane rolls her eyes and marches forward, ranting about something or other. Thor doesn’t quite listen as she herds them all down a pathway. The tallest of totems sprouting from the paved grounds do not resemble any deity’s likeness he knows but travelling in a group on this strange new world, burdened with a quest, it sends a pang of familiarity into his chest. 

Somewhere, Mjölnir is waiting for him.

The village is small and quiet, not bustling with activity like the many foreign cities Thor has been. It is a very peaceful seeming place. Boring. Strange looking shops or homes (it is hard to tell at first glance) swing their doors open from time to time, letting mortals in and out. Jane leads them into one such establishment not unlike a tavern, smiling brightly at the keeper.

Jane’s breathless with exasperation as they take seats at the too-small dining table. Thor’s knees knock the edge when he sits down.

“Alright! Okay. Breakfast is on me, but _immediately_ after he’s done,” She hikes a thumb in Thor’s direction, “We’re going up to the lab.”

“Ooh, human trials,” Darcy says, mesmerized. “Finally, physics is getting _physical_.”

Thor pauses at this, glancing at the young maiden. The way she speaks is a funny thing, almost like good Fandral, a coy smile curling her lips with some message Thor is just shy of understanding. 

But there is the fact that both she and Jane have already attacked him. Could it be some Midgardian custom? Some mortal coil. Or perhaps it is his mere appearance which makes them wary. 

Thor scratches the back of his head, chagrined. Purses his lips and smiles sheepishly.

“I come in peace.” 

She stares.

Thor purses his lips and supposes they expect more gratitude. “I wish to express my thanks for the garments, bath and sustenance. Once I find Mjölnir, the Allfather will most likely allow me to return home.”

They all stare.

So Thor stares back, tilting his head. It goes on long and silent until Jane slants back into her chair, a desperate little laugh on her lips. 

“That’s... you’re welcome, Thor, but can we just get back to the program here?” Jane offers mildly.

“Yeah, it’s called E.T.” Darcy utters.

“Darcy! _Stop!_ ” Jane whispers, not quite as quiet as one would think a whisper should be. “Um, _Thor...”_

They do say his name with a funny sort of reverence on Midgard.

Thor chews on the gift of hearty food, feeling much like Volstagg must if his rotund homage was any stronger evidence. A jolt of satisfaction spreads warmly in Thor’s stomach after every bite. 

Erik looks on disapprovingly at Jane, a flat-eyed glare that speaks volumes of Hogun’s own steely look. Jane mirrors the look of reproach on her delicate features, though it does not have the same effect. 

Jane opens her mouth then shuts it, seemingly at a loss.

“You may speak,” Thor encourages with a smile which sends poor Jane into a flustered laugh.

“It’s just— I have so many questions. What—How,” She has to visibly stop herself and then looks up, warm eyes so full of curiosity for knowledge, Thor is hit with another pang of familiarity. “What _happened_ out there, in that storm?”

“It is as I said before,” Thor swallows thick, quick to scoop up more sustenance and have his fill. 

“Right. The Rainbow Bridge,” Jane quotes, tone strangely flat. 

“And Mewmew,” Darcy adds.

Erik snorts, “It’s the stuff of fairytales. You can’t expect us to _believe_ that.” 

Thor smiles, a rueful thing pulling at the corner of his mouth. 

It’s unusual, to be made to explain one of the fundamental truths Thor has thought all realms held true. That it is possible to move between worlds, that there is something bigger out there, always something bigger, forcing each being of the universe to swell themselves up. 

They truly don’t know. Truly think they are alone.

Maybe that is why the Humans are so small.

“It matters not. I must still retrieve Mjölnir, and I plan to do so with great haste,” And make haste he does, upon seeing Jane open her mouth, eager to speak, “ _After_ which I will answer your questions, of course.”

She settles down, looking unsure at having the unspoken request stolen from her.

“That’s... good. That’s nice, but this hammer isn’t going anywhere, and my lab’s just five minutes away. Let’s just do it the way _I_ suggested instead, okay?”

“Do you always ask so many questions?” Thor lifts his brows in mirth and a delightful embarrassment crosses Jane’s features.

“I... can get pretty intense,” She agrees, dismissing the thought with a wave of the salt shaker.

Darcy leans closer to Thor and smiles, as if telling a secret, “She’s obsessed.”

“I’m _detail-oriented._ ”

“Wait, just a minute,” Erik chastises through the banter, concern deepening the wrinkles upon his forehead, “Thor, you’re not from around here. You’re all alone. Doesn’t it make sense to stay in one place and figure things out? Aren’t you the least bit worried?”

The sentiment touches Thor, “Not when I am in kind company.”

Erik scowls, as if this encourages a growing ire. “But you call us _Mortals_ and then walk off in the middle of the street! Not to mention you don’t have any way of knowing _where_ to look for—for _Mjölnir._ ”

“I knew it. He’s brain damaged,” Darcy mutters.

“From _electrocution_ ,” Jane shoots back, heaves a deep breath, and slumps. A second later she jolts in her chair, grabbing a spoon and stirring a steaming drink in a ceramic cup. Thor is a little charmed by her utter madness. “He’s right though, at this rate, you’re going to get yourself killed. So why not just skip the treasure hunt altogether?”

Thor presses his lips together, growing tense.

“Okay?” Jane continues, hands restlessly turning around a little jar of salt. “That’s safer. I can show you some data—”

The rickety front door swings shut with a jangle of bells, interrupting Jane only for the fact that the idle chatter of other patrons goes dead silent.

“Hi everyone. I apology for interrupting your breakfasts. Please remain in your seats.”

The calmly voiced command comes from a nondescript man standing in the front. He is short in height, hair cropped close and dressed in dark lines of a stiff garment that shifts crisply as he marches further along the aisle. There’s another jangle and chime as five more men in similar dress file in behind. 

Thor slowly puts down his fork, recognizing a strategic ambush when he sees one. There would be no quest without obstacles and enemies. Thor’s heart slams in sudden anticipation, an excitement threading through his limbs at the thought of confrontation. At the same time, an uncertainty wells up, at the remembrance of his fresh mortality. 

It is seeing the confused looks gracing his companions’ faces which stop him from standing.

“Oh, good.” The man comes to a halt, looking directly at Thor, “You’re here.”

Thor finishes chewing the soft morsel of food that has come to be tasteless, slowly, “Greetings.”

“Uh, Thor,” Erik sputters and leans out into the aisle, chair scraping, “Do you _know_ him...?”

“Oh, no.” The man tilts his head a fraction. “We’ve just met. But please, forgive the interruption and finish your meals. _Thor_ , is it? I’d like you to come with us.”

“Uh, excuse me!” Jane is a blur of affront, her thin arm sweeping out to gesture towards the similar dressed men, prowling by the exits. The few patrons lining the tables are watching with wide, suspicious eyes. 

“What is it? Are you _arresting_ him? Because you can’t just barge in here, and escort—”

“Jane!” Darcy squeaks, pointing, “They’ve got _guns_.”

Jane’s mouth snaps shut, falls open in indignation, then snaps shut again.

Thor frowns, “You are agitating my friends.”

“Apologies, again. We just want to talk.”

Thor obstinately nods once and stands, takes a step away from the table and its fragrant food towards the man. He feels a steely hand on his arm belonging to Erik and turns to look over his shoulder, at the old man’s concerned eyes. Jane and Darcy look flustered with outrage on his behalf.

There is a sweetness, to these Midgardians. That they could feel concern, even in the face of the unknown. That they would not want him to get hurt.

Thor would not see them come to harm as well.

“Peace, remember?” Thor says simply, and Erik reluctantly lets go.

The chimes tinkle once more as the door is held open for Thor and he follows the man out, his companions remaining inside the establishment. They step into the harshness of the late morning sun. There is a large black metal chariot waiting in the road, purring low and kicking up a bit of dust that skirts across Thor’s shins as he’s led close by a soft touch on his shoulder blade.

“Thank you for your co-operation, Thor.”

The side of the man’s mouth twitches, a shadow of a soft sort of smile that does not appear.

“My name is Phil Coulson, an agent with the Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement Logistics Division.” 

And this Son of Coul pauses for a moment before a slight crease between his brows draws in.

“We have something that might belong to you.”

******

Flameless torches chase away the shadows of the darkened room and Loki lifts his head, eyes drawing a slow line towards the two agents of Midgardian law who enter.

“He’s not quite what I was expecting.”

“What were you expecting?”

Loki is coloured somewhat impressed. The mortals have built up a large compound, stretching to and fro across the desert landscape. The halls are stark and white, long and hollow enough to hear the perfunctory footfalls of the uniformed men and women who are stationed here. But for all they’ve done, it is just a simple maze.

There are multiple rooms, many with blinking machinery of the like Loki has never seen, many with people flitting about like insects, weapons in hand. However, Loki’s chosen this particular room for the view.

The two men stride quickly towards the large window on the adjacent wall.

Through the glass Thor is visible, sitting on a lone chair, unaware anyone watches.

“Oh,” Says the one with a large quiver of arrows strapped to his back. He leans close, nose nearly touching the glass, “ _That’s_ him?”

“He’s been giving off the same readings as the meteorite,” The other says, staring intently at Thor, arms crossed.

“Now I know why you’ve kept him under wraps,” The archer gives a sudden laugh, eyes dancing as he spares the other a glance, “Handsome, huh?”

Loki cocks his head.

It’s intriguing to see the stern-faced agent crack a snort of laughter, a sort of rosiness blooming upon his otherwise boring face.

“I know what you’re doing, Barton. Now’s not the time.”

Agent Barton shrugs and turns back to the glass, “You gonna give the word or not, Coulson? We really want to risk big guy getting near it?

“Well, that depends. We’ve got a weapon from outer space stuck in the dirt. And he’s the only one around scanning with contact residue. He hasn’t been in contact with the site. Not one of the civilians we cleared. I want to know why that thing is here, why he’s here, and if we should expect explosions.”

“That’d be fun.”

“You do like to watch.”

Barton clucks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, a small smile creeping up. “Pot, Kettle.”

“For entirely different reasons,” Coulson taps his chest, revealing some sort of weapon underneath the lapel of his garment. “Now put those eyes to good use, I’m going in for the interrogation.”

“Errck, sure.” Barton slaps a hand against Coulson’s shoulder. “Just go easy on the private show.”

Loki allows himself a single moment of throbbing anger, allows for his smirk to curl gleefully, before he swiftly glide forward. He appears visible at the last second, wanting to laugh at the mortals’ shocked faces, as he smashes their heads together with his bare hands.

They crumple to a heap at his feet.

Loki toes the Agent named Coulson in the ear, letting the unconscious man’s face fall into the light. 

Let another man capture Thor?

No, he can’t have _that._

******

Across town, a storm swirls into life in the smalls of the desert. The dust and dirt picks up, scattering the skyline into a show of static, and when the gusts of wind die away—

The Warriors Three and Lady Sif land on Midgard.


	8. Chapter 8

“Hello, Thor.”

The single door of the room clicks closed and Agent Coulson steps forward, polished shoes clacking against the metallic flooring.

Thor looks up under creased brows.

He is more self-aware now.

It’s afforded some semblance of control, being thrust deep into the heart of the unknown. An awareness of his own mortality is the only thing Thor can hang onto and that old rashness, the self-centredness, the rage, so easily slips away.

His body is most definitely mortal.

And most definitely feels pain.

A part of Thor knows that he is a changed man. That it hasn’t taken long at all, to sling-shot into a transformation from that angry confused thing, the man who lost his temper so easily. He can feel the change so acutely, so sharp and deep. There is nothing to be done to stop it. 

Perhaps it is better this way, to be more aware, than to just be fueled by anger and shame. But it leaves a gap, a doubt, of where he will still fit.

Because Thor’s never fit, not really, not perfectly, not in the way he wants. But he’s tried, tried so hard. It had even risen to the point where he just wanted to be _King_ , become something better, something familiar, something good. Just push away his real self, the shadow inside, wear a golden crown as a distraction and not have to deal with the rest. 

This banishment is a test.

The Allfather has taken away his power, Mjölnir, and now Thor is grounded. 

Maybe he can find another way to change here on Midgard. Maybe he can forget all the things that make him the way he is, the things that which _refuse_ to change.

The _clip-click-clip_ of Coulson’s steps come closer.

“There’s no need to look so angry,” The agent says, a slight tilt to his head. 

This, of course, inflames Thor’s resentment. For he has been bested by them, this SHIELD. Granted, it took several weapons and the whole of the compound to restrain him after he’d been shown Mjölnir, chucked deep into a crack of earth, slicked with dirt. But a loss is a loss, and Thor feels the ache of it deeply. 

An ache punctuated by tight bands binding his wrists and ankles to a welded down chair.

“Release me.” Thor commands from between clenched teeth, heels digging into the floor. “I would leave with my hammer peacefully.”

“Yes, you would,” Coulson walks closer still, coming to stand just to Thor’s left, looking at some point unknown. A hand is held steady in the air, as though meaning to land upon Thor’s arm. “Except you’ve tried and it won’t budge.”

The pain of this stabs Thor through. He is determined to quell the anger which swells. The absolute fury which makes him want to push aside all those who stand in his way. He fights through the heat licking at the backs of his teeth, urging him to yell.

The side of the agent’s eyes crinkle. He tilts his head, “I promise we will work out how to make everyone happy. But you scared a lot of my agents, Thor, with that little display in the crater. You want everyone to leave here happy, don’t you?”

Thor frowns but nods, once, curt. So they would do this the human way. Talk. From his experience, talk didn’t necessarily lend well to peace. At least, when one was wont to say the wrong thing.

“Yes.”

“Good,” An almost-smirk tugs at Coulson’s mouth, “Great. We can start with you answering a few questions.”

Midgardians seem to have so _many_ of those.

A hand snatches his chin up.

Thor’s eyes widen in outrage as the agent looks down on him, eyelids hooded and thumb pushed rough under Thor’s mouth. The finger drags down through the bristly hairs on his jaw as Coulson tips his head further.

He looms, the hint of amusement climbing up his lips. There’s a softness to it though, contrary to the harsh pressure on Thor’s chin. As if Coulson notices his roughness, his grip relaxes, fingers smoothing back and forth, soothing. 

Thor sucks in a short breath through his nose, brows furrowing. Impatient and a touch confused, he says, “You may ask.”

“Well, first and most _importantly_...”

Thor’s mouth parts in surprise when the small man slides into his lap.

“Do you like me, Thor?”

A jolt of panic cracks like a whip up Thor’s spine.

“What?” He breathes.

“I think it could be sort of cute.” Coulson grins, swinging an arm around Thor’s neck to balance himself, a smug and lazy weight, as though sitting upon the bow of an old tree. Thor squirms in the chair and restraints.

“The two of us, pairing up to solve mysteries, fighting crime. Think of the fun!”

“You...” Thor is near speechless, “You jest.”

“Heh,” Coulson turns Thor’s head by the chin, index finger curling into his cheek with the barest of nail. 

“I’m curious why you’re here. Why you think that hammer is yours.” Coulson smiles and shakes his head. His other hand is touching Thor lightly, fingertips trailing across the round of his shoulder. “In all honesty, I’m very interested... in whosoever holds the hammer...”

Thor freezes. 

“If he be worthy...” The agent leans and there are dry lips against the shell of Thor’s ear.

_“...Shall possess the power of Thor.”_

They say it together.

The phrase is a puff of air that rings with the sound of a thousand tiny bells, a wind sweeping across dry skirts of grass. It’s a whisper of magic, old as all the nine realms and beyond, swirling and shaking Thor to the core. 

This is _not_ Agent Coulson. 

No mere mortal could send such a shiver down his spine with words alone. No mere Asgardian could do the same. But when Thor cranes his neck to stare deeply into the mortal’s face, his eyes are deceived. 

Oh, but there is only _one_ he knows to be so tricky. And yet, he can’t hope. Mustn’t.

The agent stops short, breaking eye contact. His thumb catches on Thor’s lower lip.

“You could like me, couldn’t you?”

Thor gawks fully. 

“Perhaps,” The agent leans close, so close, and Thor swallows thick, wrists twisting against tight bands, “You could even... wish to bed me?”

Unbidden, his eyes flicker down to where Coulson sits. A mental image unfurls lightning fast at the question, striking Thor hot and shameful. 

The hand on his face _squeezes._

Thor grits his teeth, eyes clamped shut in pain. Coulson’s strong. Godly strong. And there is the hard streak of a scar upon the palm that swipes roughly through Thor’s beard. It draws a deep line into his cheek. It hurts, but also sends a flare of recognition, bright and sharp in the bottom of his gut. Thor turns his face into it, exhales into the cup of that palm, and the instant those fingertips float off his lips he gasps sharply, eyes flying open:

“ _Loki._ ” 

The agent does not give affirmation, but grins.

“Loki?” Thor whispers, unwilling to say more but not knowing any other way to ask. His thighs are buzzing, thrumming with rushing blood at every point touched. He’s breathless, the words ghosting out of him with disbelief.

“Is it really you?” 

“You should see your face,” And when Coulson laughs Thor is certain. 

At once, Thor is mentally counting down from a thousand, breaths coming deep. Whether it’s anger or... or something else he’s holding in check, he does not examine. 

But to know that this is the press of Loki’s body seated on his lap is unthinkable. No. The thought is not comforting at all, for it makes him feel— Thor’s already disorientated, limbs tingling and restless. It ties his stomach into knots, when Loki laughs again, slithering off his lap.

“Are you quite done gloating?” Thor huffs, closing eyes against the new guise of his brother, the mockery.

“Hmph,” Loki pats him on the cheek twice. Thor doesn’t even have to look to know full well when his brother is rolling his eyes. 

“Nice to see you too, Thor.”

“You shouldn’t have come.” Thor thumps his heels in frustration. He can’t help but glare at the mud caked upon his boots. “I am in the middle of _peaceful negotiations.”_

“Yes. And that would explain why you’re all tied up. And dressed to impress as well. Charming, Thor.”

Thor slumps, lips pressed together in a thin line to keep the indignation back.

“Loki, you should not be here—”

“It’s alright,” Loki saunters around the chair, a fingertip trailing through the thick of Thor’s hair as he circles. A thin strand of gold falls across Thor’s mouth and sticks. Thor exhales, blowing it away and it’s with a sudden snap of Loki’s fingers and a golden spark, his hand restraints vanish. 

The ankle bindings remain tied.

“Loki, release my—”

“Ah-Ah-Ah,” Loki snickers, waving a finger. “Far be it from me to intrude on your... negotiations.”

“You’ve already intruded,” Thor growls, but can’t fault his brother. There’ve been many times when a fellow comrade had fallen prey to their own foolishness on a quest. It was only fair, to get in a good laugh at his expense. Still, Thor’s mouth twists as he gingerly rubs the raw skin of wrists. 

“Shhhsh.” Loki thunks him on the back of the head and a tiny satchel lands in Thor’s lap. Upending the contents onto his knees, Thor smiles. If there were any more proof needed, this was it. Thor turns over a smooth healing stone in between fingers before crushing it in his fist, the glitter falling to mend his reddened flesh.

“Heimdall cannot see me, you know that, Thor.” Loki says, circling back around, arms crossed.

“It is still forbidden. What happened to real Son of Coul—”

“Oh,” Loki stops, “Just a bit of fun.”

Thor glares, which earns him a smirk in reply. But Thor does not want to ward Loki off, it’s the last thing he wants, and Loki somehow must know it. Because he gravitates back towards Thor until their knees brush together. He just stands there, looking down on Thor, his stolen face crossed with amusement and something Thor can’t quite place laced between the unfamiliar features.

“I have missed you,” Loki says, but it sounds more like a reprimand than sentiment.

“I have missed you as well,” Thor mutters softly in reply. 

Loki snorts and his hands fall to Thor’s shoulders, kneading once, “It has not yet been long enough for that.”

Thor gives a wry smile. Loki always pretends to be surprised by his reciprocation. Sometimes, it’s almost as if Loki genuinely doesn’t believe it, or at least chooses not to. Chooses not to believe the only thing that Thor himself believes in. 

This love. 

The way Loki can shrug it off, make jest... only serves to make Thor try harder. Only serves to tie this knot in his chest tighter. Constricting, squeezing him off into two halves; the Thor who is different and the one he wants to be.

It’s inevitable, a reaction that cannot be undone. 

Thor holds his breath as Loki kneads again.

He scrunches the stiff material of Loki’s human garments in his hand and Loki moves, knee grazing up to lean against the small slice of chair between Thor’s thighs.

“You are my brother.”

“Am I?” Loki mutters wonderingly, as if there’s any reason to wonder, and his hands become a tight weight. Thor’s mouth falls open at the painful sensation of nails biting into his shoulders and Loki bends all the way in, knee wedged uncomfortably deep in the v of Thor’s legs.

“Yes,” Thor shifts uneasily, catching the hard line of Loki’s thigh in one hand before he presses close. The presence of it is firm, unrelenting, determined. Loki’s hands come up to cradle the back of his neck. 

All of a sudden, every part of Thor is freezing, except for where Loki’s touch rests. He swallows, a hard lump, and can almost imagine it is his heart tumbling back down. 

Pleasure strikes hard enough to make his head swim. The guilt in this closeness, this love, is a crack of lightning in his veins. The desire is too great, dangerous. For this brotherly affection is so much more than a simple gesture. It’s deliberate. And it is so hard, so very hard, to control this body. Loki must mean to humiliate him, or worse— because Loki is nothing if not capricious—

A brief moment of uncertainty seizes Thor. That this really _isn’t_ his brother, but someone else, a stranger.

“Thor,” Loki’s thumb sweeps gently across his cheek. “Thor, calm down.” 

Loki leans so that their foreheads rest against one another. 

“It’s just me. It’s Loki.” 

The steam of hot breath curls against Thor’s lips.

“I know,” He suppresses a shudder. “I know.”

“You like me better as myself, don’t you?” Loki asks, and the absolutely cunning expression that overtakes the Agent’s face is very out of place.

“I...” Thor bites his lip, not wanting to voice the truth that simmers just shy of the surface, “Merely hate your tricks.” 

Loki smirks.

They’ve never been like others. Thor knows that brothers are meant to ignore these weaknesses in each other, meant to become indifferent. Perhaps if they’d both given up the strange sense of chivalry, the need to protect, Thor wouldn’t have gotten so tangled up. 

But it’s not Loki’s fault. His heart gallops in an unwinnable race, guilt clogging his throat. It’s not Loki’s fault Thor feels this way.

Loki grins and the air shimmers then, to reveal green eyes heavy lidded and dark, so dark, with the lights crowning his head. 

And there he is, Loki, in the flesh. The same familiar touch, the same sly low voice. Loki cups both of Thor’s cheeks in warm palms, and Thor can feel it, perfectly straight— that promise cut deep upon Loki’s hand.

Loki grinds his knee. 

Thor sucks in the longest drag of air he dares, blood rushing down, fingernails clawing into Loki’s thigh. It takes two hands to keep Loki at bay. He resists, but Loki leans closer yet with the most boyish grin, reminding Thor of all the times Loki had joked with him before. 

It’s only a moment before he’s allowing Loki to slide right in. 

“Oh,” Loki whispers, dangerously close, “You _did_ miss me.”

******

“Jane?”

The lab has been ripped apart.

Gutted and cleaned, it looks nothing as it did before, cluttered with knowledge built up over a long four years of hard work. The walls are bare of the once haphazardly hanging papers, not even all the thumbtacks left behind. It happened fast.

Jane moans and scrabbles desperate hands through the cupboards, file cabinets— even the garbage bins. 

Empty, empty, and empty.

The only thing missing is a comedic moth flying out at her face as she uselessly flings open another desk drawer.

“What happened?” Jane asks, voice sounding hollow to her own ears.

“It was like this when Darcy and I came back, we were going to call you—”

“And they took my _iPhone_ ,” Darcy complains.

“Ha...” Jane breathes out despairingly. She makes one errand after being held _against her will_ in a diner for an hour and this is what she comes back to?

“ _Jane,_ ” Erik intones.

“No,” She scratches at her scalp, sending long hair every which way. “Don’t say it, Erik!”

The warm familiar weight of Erik’s hand settles on the crown of her head and Jane bristles, not wanting to accept the comfort but needing it all the same. Erik smoothes the bird’s nest of her hair back into place. She leans into the touch, brows drawn close as she surveys the remains of her life. 

The large windows let in all the light of the afternoon desert sun. Large streams pooling across the expanse of floors picked clean of the machinery which used to make residence there. The space looks big, massive, without the equipment numerous grants had helped to purchase over the years. And the absence of all the notes, the scribbles of Jane’s shorthand on faded yellow stickies, it makes the lab seem like a foreign space. 

She snorts and shakes her head – a lot more crumbs and eraser rubbings in the corners than she’d have guessed.

“Jane.” 

“I know,” She replies, irritation welling up. “It’s all gone. Those men at the diner...”

“Weren’t just cops.” Darcy supplies and even she looks forlorn, picking through the scraps. The only thing left close to being useful is a pile of tiny paper circles, a spill from the lab’s hole puncher previously gone unnoticed.

“The government,” Erik explains, “I’ve heard of SHIELD before. It’s not something we can mess with.”

Darcy flicks them one by one off the table.

Jane sighs. “Well what now?”

“We can go home,” Erik suggests and the thought is a sharp poker to the fire of indignation burning in Jane’s gut.

“No! This is _theft!_ We have rights, there must be something— You know what else they took? Thor.” She takes a deep breath, “They took my work and _Thor_. I didn’t want to believe it, but isn’t that telling enough? They’re... They have to be connected.”

“Or he could have just been a spy,” Darcy interjects.

Jane throws her hands up in frustration. “No spy would act like he wasn’t even from this—”

Her words come to a grinding halt. Like lightning, Jane slams her satchel onto the nearest surface, rummaging madly through the contents. Her fingers snag on the prize and she pulls out a thick stack of papers, the old printer stuff, perforated pages zigzagging in a low dip like an accordion sagging to the floor.

“The Einstein-Rosen bridge,” Jane mutters excitedly.

“ _Jane,_ ” Erik implores again.

“Skewing the fabric of spacetime,” Jane jabs a finger onto the center of the stack wedged in hand. “More commonly thought of as a wormhole. A tunnel, connecting two different coordinates and, theoretically, creating a connection someone could travel through.”

“Your point?” Darcy asks, jumping up onto one of the counters and swinging her legs. 

“My point,” Jane pokes Darcy’s knee as she bustles past, dragging the spilling data behind her like a bridal train. “Is what if the Rainbow Bridge _is_ that bridge? What if the— Bifrost?— opens up a tunnel to not another part of _our_ universe, but...”

“The universe of someone else,” Erik whispers, trailing behind her and stepping on the papers in his moment of realization. “Thor.”

Jane whirls, “Exactly.”

“No. No! _Jane_ , it’s mythology. Science fiction.”

“Uhhmmm,” Darcy’s drawl cuts in.

“We just need proof, Erik. And _this_ is it. Those charts I sent out for analysis, you know, just before going back for Thor at the hospital—”

“The particle readings?”

“Right here.” She smacks the papers. “I almost forgot I had them!”

Glasses are whipped out and balanced on Erik’s nose without further pretense. “Well?”

“Take a look.”

“Or we could look over _this_ way,” Darcy wheedles again with sweeping arm movements.

Jane flicks a hand dismissively (erratically) before one thumbnail is scraping across the cascade of data. “Whatever followed Thor through to this world was made of an element that doesn’t exist on Earth.”

Erik stares at the readings, flabbergasted. “It’s... that’s too heavy to be—”

“Uh huh,” Jane nods, hair flying back from her face as she runs an urgent hand overtop her head to keep it back. “Not our particles.”

“Not our world.”

“Guys, I think, you should really see this—”

“Darcy, what?” Jane snaps, only to see a white-hot streak across the clear sky, barrelling down at an alarming rate.

_BOOM!_

Smoke and debris slam into the room in a wall of heat that crushes with the weight of a hundred tonnes. Jane loses her breath as the pressure sucks out all the air, and the trio collapse behind a filing cabinet in terror.

There’s been a huge explosion at the end of town.

******

Thor turns his face away, the flush stealing up his neck like a hot brand. But Loki catches him, hand mashing his nose and mouth, thumb holding him by the chin. His ankles pulsate, feeling like they’ll burst against the seams which bind. That hard line of flesh, that scar, presses against Thor in a kiss that has him breathing harshly, hot breath washing over his face.

“I,” Thor mumbles into the heat, unable to think past the throb consuming his body, his blood. “I...”

But he can’t say it, not like this. So Thor presses a soft kiss to Loki’s palm. He breathes through his mouth, parted lips stuck to Loki’s skin. The ground is falling away from beneath him, a shudder so strong running up his spine as if an earthquake has hit.

“Thor,” Loki breathes, voice coloured dark like a piece of coal breaking apart, weighed down by the heat of it. He snags Thor’s chin, tilting it up. It’s only at the last second manages to Thor turn his head away.

Loki’s lips are soft, so soft, against the side of his mouth. The tip of his nose nudges into the Thor’s cheekbone. 

Thor can’t seem to catch his breath, he’s panting, hands wet with sweat. Loki lingers, too long, and Thor has to gently pull Loki’s wrist to pry his hand away. When Thor gets the courage to look his brother in the eyes, Loki’s mouth has gone tight, pursed, a withdrawn look pulling back his features until he looks bored, cold, distant.

“Loki,” Thor starts, unknowing of what words could come next— for what could he ever say?— but he can’t stand the disappointment so clear on his brother’s face.

And then the expression is gone, Loki letting out a huff of laughter, tongue tip pushing against his bottom row of teeth. Thor has no chance to explain, to thank him, for everything, even for always being such a sneak, before Loki half-smiles and strokes one thumb down Thor’s nose.

“You made me miss.”

_CRACK!_

The door explodes on its hinges, courtesy of a black boot. 

And this is the moment an arrow goes screaming through the air; ripping through in a trajectory pointed dead center on—

Loki catches the arrow in one fist, a hair’s breadth away from Thor’s eye.

“ _You_ ,” Loki snarls. “You _DARE_ attack **my** —”

“—Hey, _you_ knocked out my boss. Oh, by the way?” The archer retorts, another arrow aimed true, “ _ **I**_ never miss.”

The arrow snaps in Loki’s twitching fist as the second shoots off and Thor barely manages to shove Loki out of the way as it goes wailing past his ear.

“THOR!” Loki bellows, eyes slit with rage, “Don’t _get in the way._ ”

Naturally, Thor struggles to free his ankles. 

The third arrow zooms at Loki this time, sailing straight through his face. The apparition vanishes in a shower of gold sparks and Loki reappears right next to the agent, snatching him up by the neck. Squeezes.

Thor watches as the agent is lifted in his brother’s grasp, held high enough that he kicks out frantically, angry mortal face starting to turn blue. Loki rolls his eyes and Thor strains anew, the banding cutting into his ankles tight and sharp.

“Playtime’s over now,” Loki hisses into the man’s ear, “Pity. Thought a little bang on the head was all it took to kill your like.”

“LOKI!” Thor growls, teeth bared. It’s obvious now, how much of a joke his brother’s made of everything. “Let him go!”

The look that overcomes Loki’s face is dark, the overhead lighting casting him into shadow. His lips peel back to reveal the perfect smile, and he looks so beautiful, so familiar, so—

“ _Make me_ , Thor.” 

Thor curses, loud. Loki snickers wholeheartedly at that. His arm swoops out in a large arc and a whipcord of magic slashes out across Thor’s legs. 

The binds break free.

Thor jumps up and then immediately lurches to the side. The ground shakes violently, throwing them off their feet. Loki lands hard against the opposing wall, letting the archer go parting from his clutch. The mortal gasps for breath, scrambling away from Loki as plaster starts raining in huge sheets. White dust cascades down to pile atop a light fixture that crashes to the floor. The cloud of dust that explodes upon impact shields the archer from view.

“Brother!” Thor screams and the ground shakes again, cracks like lightning bolts split the floor. The whole compound seems to sway, vibrations creaking through the metal frames that feel close to snapping like mere twigs.

“Thor,” Loki gasps, blinking wide against white clumps of debris clinging to his eyelashes. A smirk rips itself open on his face, “Is that you making a mess?”

“You know it’s not!” Thor swallows, lunging across the expanse, palms slipping against the floor which has been tilted on its axis. And just as suddenly the violent shocks subside, tremors rhythmically making the building hum until there is only stillness. 

Somewhere in the distance an alarm blares.

“Uh oh,” Loki laughs breathlessly, “Then it was me, wasn’t it?”

Thor gapes, desperation and confusion clawing at his insides. 

“Brother... what have you done?”

Loki’s head falls back, resting against the wreckage and for just a moment he looks relaxed, peaceful. His body flickers, as though made of light.

“I hear the Destroyer stops at nothing to protect that which the King commands. Better check on your little mortals, Thor.”

It is as Loki disappears that Thor tears out the doorway.

******

A cough echoes through the rubble.

Barton lets out a frustrated sigh, grabbing Coulson by the hand and trying very hard not to black out as he’s pulled up. 

He groans as the weight of gravity hits him, holding the crown of his head, “Sir, we have a situation.”

“Yes, we do.” Coulson smiles briefly, a small flicker of ironic amusement despite the chaos that’s overtaken the base. He’s coated in a fine layer of dust and there’s a nasty bump on the high point of his hairline that’s starting to look ugly. 

“Quake?” Barton croaks.

“No seismic activity recorded before things went offline. All signs point to attack. Data’s coming in,” He taps his phone. “How’s your neck?”

“I’ll live,” Barton rasps.

“Next time don’t go in alone and leave me to catch up on my beauty sleep.”

Barton laughs raggedly, “But you need it so badly.”

There’s a beep.

Coulson exhales. “Attack in town. Some type of suit...”

“Stark?” Barton shakes his head and immediately regrets it. “He’s not stupid enough to pull a stunt like that—”

“But one of his admirers might,” Coulson straightens his jacket. 

“Speaking of admirers,” Barton lifts an eyebrow and even though it’s painful, jerks his head towards the remnants of the holding cell. “Seems like he’s already got a boyfriend.”

“Oh,” And Coulson laughs. “S’okay, Barton. Holding out for a hero anyway.”


	9. Chapter 9

_Ssshhhskkk!_

Sparks explode upon impact. The sound of metal screeching across metal rips through the sky. It’s hot, a sear that can only come from a world hugging a star too-closely, sunrays pelting down through a too-thin atmosphere of a too-small planet. The scorch of the air burns off the edges of one’s senses like outside crust crumbling away.

_Slam-slam-slam-smash!_

“To think!—“ Fandral gasps out, right before falling straight into a barrel roll, driving thick waves of sun baked dust into the air, “I rather enjoyed that pile of scraps when it was on our side!”

The Destroyer looms overhead as another of their attacks bounces off its shiny hide. The blasted thing had followed them through the Bifrost, Fandral’s sure of it. But to be right on their tails? It’s as if—

Fandral lets out a shout as he hooks arms across Sif and Hogun’s chests to dive out of the way as a fiery hot disk of energy spins inside the Destroyer’s hinged head. It rears back for just a second, as if in the violent throws of a sneeze, right before spitting out a deathly ray of power. 

_Zzzzzmmmm!_

The beam carves across the landscape like a knife through tissue, leaving scars behind.

“It still _is_ on the right side!” Sif shouts, spitting hair out of her mouth and shoving Fandral’s opportunistic right hand off her breastplate, “It is _we_ who are on the wrong!”

Hogun pushes off Fandral’s equally opportunistic left hand and together he and Sif make the blond moustached warrior slap himself in the face. Fandral just laughs in good fun. Then they scramble.

“CURSE...THAT...LOKI!” Volstagg roars. 

They spot the huge metal suit clanging across the dusty flat of the land, valiantly trying to step on Volstagg. Clever as he is though, Volstagg uses his rotund warrior physique to roll out of the way with ease. 

It is true the Destroyer is a merciless force of protection in Asgard. But protection is its _only_ purpose. Asgardians prefer to fight their own battles which make Destroyer’s presence on Midgard so bizarre. Unless there is something here... something worth protecting. Preposterous.

“It’s a trap.” Hogun growls under his breath, tossing his weapon into the fray to trip up their opponent and give Volstagg a breather. “Loki sent us here so there would be good reason to attack us!”

The momentarily flattened Destroyer gives them but a pause to recollect and take up a defensive position. Sif’s face hardens, “We’ve been tricked.”

The desert floor is hot and dry and barren. The glowing runes of the BiFrost’s magic have flickered out, leaving behind black etches underfoot and the smell one gets when standing too close to a fire. Midgard is a strange fragile place. Light a match here and everything could burn.

Simple, really, what Loki has accomplished. How foolish they were, to buy into such a plan. To come to Midgard was a mistake. A reason for treason.

Frantically scanning against the harsh glaring cut of sky, Sif takes sight of something like a mirage, a dark smudge stretched across a small part of the horizon. A village perhaps? Somewhere Thor could be—

_Bffffffttt!_

A gigantic fireball spit forth from the Destroyer’s maw goes tearing through the air with vengeance, exploding somewhere within the distant city. 

Sif and the Warriors Three are knocked to their feet. With a cry of fury, Volstagg crawls along the ground, dragging himself up beside Hogun. All four warriors are lying in the dirt in a line, shoulders pressed together and coated in golden dust. The Destroyer leans over, and their vision of the bright blue sky is rudely blocked. 

The Destroyer rears back one massive foot and they close their eyes awaiting the final blow.

There’s the telltale high-pitched shriek of energy and a thunder of impact explodes right above their heads as the Destroyer walks right over them, a wild beam of energy coming from its head razing across the landscape.

“Of all the nerve...” Sif gasps out a puff of dust and sits up.

“Did you see that?” Volstagg sputters indignantly.

“Nay,” Fandral responds shakily, creaking one eye open a sliver, much too terrified to look.

Volstagg gives a hearty ironic laugh. “It stepped over us like we were a pile of—!“

“It’s following the trace,” Hogun cuts him off, shoving a hand into one of his pockets and pulling out the magical spinning mechanism. It rests in his open palm then splits with a quick burst, reshaping itself into a point aimed at the Destroyer’s rampaging back. 

“Hey,” Sif smacks Fandral in the head. “Get up.”

“You do know what this means.” Fandral intones miserably, blinking warily, “It’s not after us.”

“Aye,” Hogunn replies and Volstagg finishes:

“It’s after Thor.”

*******

The endless maze of the compound is in shambles.

What once were pristine winding halls teeming with Midgardians are now abandoned, filled only with chunks of plaster and dust. There are alarms loudly blaring, red flashing lights suspended from the ceilings every other corner flooding the red light everywhere. Something is wrong. If Thor’s been great at anything, it’s sniffing out a fight.

He runs, pushing his legs harder, the burn thrumming through him like the powerful electric current that calls to him like a whisper in a darkened room. Luring him, pulling on his senses until he’s strung taunt, needing, wanting—

Mjölnir.

He bursts through a doorway.

The end of a weapon catches him in the face.

“Argh!” Thor groans and lashes out, swinging at the agent who has appeared as if by magic. The woman gets a kick to his stomach and Thor grunts, curling in on himself for a second enough for her to go spinning around, aiming a kick to his neck. But at the last moment, Thor grabs her ankle and yanks. She goes flying into the dust.

“Stand down!”Another agent yells in his face, aiming a weapon with outstretched arms. 

“No guns! We need him alive! No guns!” Someone screams.

Thor slaps the weapon from his fingers. The man looks shocked before his fist reels back for a punch to Thor’s chin. Thor grapples with him, ignoring the disorienting shouts that start pouring in from all sides.

“Don’t let him near it!”

“Radio channels unresponsive! Secure the perimeter! SECURE IT.”

Thor grits his teeth throws the man over his shoulder. He runs, finding his feet clanging against the metal racking of a suspended landing. There’s an open square to the ground, and the thin tarp-like covering which lines the metal framework of the area is ripped, letting in the bright natural light of outside in. Thor takes this all in while running, and then he spots it.

At the pit of the open area is a large crater, the hammer lays head first in the dirt, unmoved. Thor lets out a roar and jumps from the landing, feet skidding in the dust as he hits the ground. The tremors, the explosions, Loki’s look of mischief as he disappeared— Thor knows these signs well. The AllFather has found out and sent the Destroyer to enforce the banishment. It is the only explanation. Thor’s stomach twists. 

The people in the town will be helpless to an onslaught under Odin’s rage. Thor has seen worlds crumble in his father’s wake. And yet... Thor must help. The odds are against his new mortality, but for the innocent humans who knew nothing of his status, his name, his wrongness... and still showed him kindness, still tried to help him.  
Try he _must._

He needs Mjölnir. 

It’s the only thought that races through his mind, like a tight needle tying all his thoughts together into a very strong knot. He’s nothing without it.

Men and women try to block his path, but Thor pushes them down. He gets close enough to lay a hand on Mjolnir, fingers curling possessively.

But it does not move.

Anguish crashes into him as his muscles strain against the handle. His chest burns and Thor vaguely registers he is screaming. Light explodes into his eyes. The tarp covering has been ripped aside by another shockwave ransacking the compound. Its flimsy material is flapping against the cloudless sky. Soon more agents will be sent.

Thor is almost detached in a way, watching himself let go of the hammer, clenching his empty hand into a fist. 

Not as Odinson then. 

Just Thor.

*******

He makes it out of the compound and into the range without being followed, but at a price.

Thor swallows at the dry craggy feeling in his throat. The sun sears down, pushing his eyelids into a low squint. This mortal body needs sustenance, the harsh elements and lack of energy taking its toll. He walks along the side of a road. Every so often there is a rumbling that sets the pebbles and dust flying as Thor recognizes as a car, racing away from town. 

There’s only one going back in.

Thor turns around at the sound, walking backwards and shielding his eyes against the glare. It is noisy, with a _clank-clank-clank_ as it putters across the flat of the road to overtake him. Thor watches the back of the car forlornly before it pulls over to the side and stops, just ahead. 

His first instinct is to eye the car with suspicion. An arm appears out the car’s side, waving.

Thor approaches and looks through the window. “Kind sir, would you be travelling towards the village?”

“If you mean Puente Antiguo,” The old man in the car looks like a pale prune with white hair and large darkened spectacles, “Hop in, kid. You look like toast.”

“Thank you sir, I am spent,” Thor smiles, piling into the front seat. “Might you have anything to eat?”

“Uh, maybe,” The man replies, scratching at his head and pulling back onto the road. “Check the back seat, could be some Poptarts or something.”

Thor immediately reaches back to forage.

“Name’s Lee.” The old man says after listening to long minutes of Thor’s famished crunching, “You?”

Thor swallows around something called a ‘Twinkie’ and nods. “You may address me as Thor.” 

Lee lets out a small chuckle. 

“My name amuses you.”

“Nah. It’s just different.”

Thor pauses. Looks at himself in the side mirror, wondering if it’s always been obvious. He chews his bottom lip, squinting at the dusty plains rolling by.

“You think me strange.” 

“Well, yeah.”

“Good strange or bad strange?”

Lee laughs, the sound slamming into Thor like window shutters blasting open to let in a blinding ray of sun. Warm. Free. He does not answer right away, reaching towards the controls slowly to flip a switch.

Music fills the air.

“I’m not sure yet,” Lee stretches and sinks back into his seat, “Only thing you can be sure of nowadays is that _everyone_ is strange. And you know what, Thor? That’s good.”

*******

“Wait, wait, wait! Is that _Iron Man?_ ” Darcy breathes in awe, her large eyes even wider as she struggles to keep an eye on the sky, fumble in her backpack and run at the same time. “Dammit, Jane! I’ve been waiting for this moment forever—Shit! I forgot the feds took my phone!”

“This is not the time!” Jane shouts. She can tell she’s shouting because her throat hurts, but her ears are still ringing from the first blast. Darcy is almost loathe to leave, so Jane grabs her arm just as jets plow through the air overhead. 

Then they’re sprinting, stumbling around debris littering the path that used to be the quaint main road. Things have descended to chaos, people weaving in and out of buildings, fires blazing on the sidewalks. There’s the sound of gunfire and it seems whatever that SHIELD agency was looking for is right on top of them as the jets attack whatever that _huge metal thing_ is, wreaking havoc on the edge of town.

“Come on!” Erik shouts, frantically beckoning them behind an overturned car.

“Why is it—“ Jane starts, then aborts her screaming at Eric and Darcy’s cringes, “It’s just standing there! Why not come closer?”

“Think its fine where it is!” Darcy yelps.

“We need to move, Jane,” Erik implores, cupping her shoulder. She nods shakily just as there’s a siren scream of heat that blows past the car, tipping it over right on top of them.

“AHA!” A mighty cry rips through her deafened eardrums. There’s a screech of metal on metal and sparks cascade down as the weight of the car slams away, the alarm blaring to life then fizzling away in a puff of smoke from the two crunched halves of what used to be a SUV.

“Maidens, do not distress!” Someone says with gallant cadence and a parade of boots part the cloud of dust and smoke. Not to mention the armor and _capes._

Jane blinks through the dirt streaking her face, speechless and terrified. Vaguely, she registers Darcy hugging her around the waist in terror.

The man who has spoken possesses coiffed blond hair and a boisterous grin, “Oh, and sir.”

Erik gasps.

The tall— _tall!_ — woman wearing an impressive breastplate kneels before Jane, “Greetings, fair lady. I am the Lady Sif. Please do not be alarmed. The Destroyer is a protector of Asgard sent wrongly.”

“What... How... How did you get here?” Jane can scarcely finish her thought and beside her, Darcy starts muttering about her phone.

“The Bifrost.” 

Jane must be looking as flabbergasted as she feels because Sif scrunches her nose for a moment, then tries again, gesturing to her companions. “These are the Warriors Three; Fandral, Hogun, and Volstagg. There is no need to fear us. We are Aesir. Citizens of Asgard who come in peace.”

“Pray tell us of Thor!” Fandral demands with a flourish.

“Thor?” Jane mouths. Her knees are shaking, her throat feels tight. She can barely call up her voice. “You know Thor?”

“Aye, he is our comrade. We have followed his path, as has the Destroyer.”Hogun responds, raising a strange silver artifact that is emitting a faint glow. “The magical signature is strong.”

“He’s not here,” Erik says quickly.

“Ah, the dramatic entrance!” Volstagg cries boldly, squinting at the sky with triumph, “He’ll fly in, perhaps?”

Jane lets out a soft burst of laughter that she sincerely hopes doesn’t edge on the brink of insanity, “I think we’d notice if he could fly.”

“Thor is without his powers?” Fandral whispers with a frown.

“In banishment he may appear native to Midgard. However, the Allfather’s magic is powerful and most likely conceals Thor’s true self,” Hogun casts a suspicious eye at the Destroyer, standing stock still in the distance.

“So what is he?,” Darcy asks, “Some kind of monster underneath?” 

“No.” Sif replies with a sort of indignant confusion, “He is a prince.”

There’s a loud whirring in Jane’s ears, as if she’s underwater. Her mind is racing. It’s like her whole career has been flipped upside down and then set on fire— _literally_ in the case of the town!— so Jane understands the slightly embarrassing reaction of legs turning to jelly. Sif takes hold of Jane by the elbows to help her stand. 

And the Jane falls back down again when a helicopter marked _S.H.I.E.L.D._ lands in the middle of the street. 

“Afternoon!” Agent Coulson shouts blandly over the chopper’s blades. Perched snugly against his ears are headphones and dark black shades block out his eyes. There’s a bandage on the high point of his forehead.

The Asgardians draw their weapons at the new arrival.

“What are you doing here?” Erik yells back with hands covering his ears. The force of the downdraft blowing up one tuft of grey hair as he walks around the menacing wall of Asgardians.

“Oh. Just waiting for Thor.” Coulson replies blithely. He looks Fandral up and down with a mildly curious tilt to his mouth for a moment, “Isn’t that why everyone’s standing around?”

“What magic have you placed upon Thor?” Volstagg squints one eye, scrutinizing the agent.

“We’ve had the whole town bugged for ages,” Coulson replies and taps his nose. Hogun scowls and surreptitiously gives his artifact a little shake.

“Yeah, that’s definitely legal,” Darcy quips sarcastically.

“So you’ve known about our work. All of it,” Erik deflates, “Since the beginning.”

At Coulson’s little nod Jane’s jaw drops, “Why didn’t you ever try to shut us down?” 

“Intelligence is better left undisturbed until required—“Coulson pauses and then adds, “And not just your own, Ms. Foster.”

“Well,” Jane says breathlessly, gesturing to the Asgardians standing in the street’s ruins, “I have it on good authority there’s a _lot_ you don’t know.”

“Unfortunately, we are extremely aware of that fact. Ah,” Coulson looks at his watch and then smiles ruefully, “Here he is.”

Down the street, an old car turns around the corner.

*******

Old Lee leans until he’s practically on top the steering wheel and lets out a long whistle, “That used to be my office! Looks like I’m permanently moving to Santa Fe.” He sits back and smiles at Thor, “You could come with.”

“You are very generous, thank you,” Thor replies, not knowing quite where that is but hopes it is faring better than the quaint town he’s spent the past few days.

“Hey,” Lee pulls the car to a stop and adjusts his glasses. “You know them?”

“By the nines...”

“THOR!”

As soon as Thor spills into the street he finds himself in the middle of an embrace on all sides. The band of friends crush him, hard armor bumping and long hair tangling. Sif throws an arm around his neck in a headlock as Hogun and Fandral link arms with his and Thor goes face first into Volstagg’s impressive beard. 

“MY FRIENDS!” Thor cheers around the red curls. “Oh, I have missed you well! It has been so long!”

“It has only been a day,” Fandral laughs with delight.

“An eternity!” Volstagg crows, smothering Thor into his shoulder.

Thor coughs, laughing, “Verily? But then, why are you here?”

“Well, time _is_ relative,” Jane says from the other side of what used to be the street and holds up one small hand, fingers waving. “Hi, Thor.”

“Jane! Everyone!” Thor cannot seem to stop shouting. He feels so merry. “Son of Coul! You are well!”

Coulson smiles blandly.

Thor gestures between the two groups and Lee, “These are my friends!”

“We heard!” Darcy shouts back. 

“Thor,” Sif interjects, a thin line creasing between her brows, “We must make haste. If time passes faster in this realm then there is greater chance Loki has already acted.”

“What?” Thor asks, his stomach freezing into a rock hard lump at the mention of his brother. “No, dear Sif. It is Odin. He must have...” Thor trails off, finding no desire in sharing his indiscretions. Surely, the Allfather must have seen his conduct with Loki and known to send further punishment.

“But that cannot be,” Hogun’s usual solemn expression deepens with a press of concern. 

Fandral picks up where he leaves off, “The Allfather... Thor, he sleeps.”

“What?” Thor gasps. It doesn’t even sound like his voice.

“It is Loki who sent us to find you.” Volstagg explains, his previous smile falling away like crumbs into his beard. “It is also he who controls the Destroyer.”

Thor’s struck by the image of Loki laughing breathlessly, white plaster tumbling across his dark hair and eyelashes and saying, _“It was me, wasn’t it?”_

Thor swallows back the swell of disappointment pushing against the apple of his throat. The sear of the setting sun is a buzz which fills his ears, blocking everything out. Strange, that this would be the moment he’d come to dread.

The hot burst of tears comes so suddenly Thor is shocked when his eyes are filled with the warmth, a pair of salty tracks daring to spill if he blinks. He cannot comprehend the reaction and clenches his teeth, promising himself to remain calm. But there is an angry storm brewing under his skin. 

For he has been made the fool by his very own Brother. 

Loki has always been the sort to indulge in prolonged pursuits— there is a certain pleasure in the pull of a good string along, like a wine one drinks for months, drawn out, a taste to savour by the drop. Loki loves the attention his games receive, more than the playing pieces, more than the strategy. Loves to have the last laugh, to bask in the mayhem. Oh, he is an expert flirt. Always thinking several moves ahead, skirting the divides of danger and caution with a smile. 

And Thor always dives right in.

It’s all a magnificent punch line to a very cruel joke.

“Friends,” When Thor speaks his voice is tight, controlled. He doesn’t want to be angry, but is. “I regret I must remain here. If you go now perhaps peace shall be restored.”

“You don’t know that!” Jane declares, imploring, just as Volstagg cries with offense, “We’re not leaving you here!”

Sif’s consternation shows as she grips Thor’s elbow with bruising strength, “We fear he has plot beyond mere jest this time. Thor, he has used your banishment as a diversion, a means to strand us in this realm whilst he occupies the throne. You must come back!”

The wind starts to pick up and down the road the flying craft’s blades are beginning to whirl.

“Even though it’s obvious I’m going to say it anyway,” Agent Coulson says from the side, looking at a phone in his hand. “ _Someone_ has to deal with that thing— “He makes an abortive gesture towards the Destroyer, “Because it just flattened the town, our base, a slew of fighter jets and I’d really like to avoid calling in Tony Stark.”

“I knew it!” Darcy snaps her fingers.

“We have already tried,” Fandral complains. He’s edging close to Darcy with an intrigued air. Erik surreptitiously steps in between the two.

“There is a high level protective magic newly placed upon its armor,” Hogun clarifies and Volstagg finishes the thought, “Only Loki could have done so. It is evidence enough we’ve been double-crossed.”

“Then there is only one option,” Sif says with an urgency that stokes the flame in Thor’s gut. “You must talk to Loki. Reason with him.” The long black strands of Sif’s hair brush across her cheek in a faint breeze and Thor is reminded with violent alacrity of when Loki cut it off. “He only listens to you.”

Because my words are amusing to him, Thor thinks. Can almost hear it; the echo of laughter, chasing every thought. It matters not. Thor’s finished with being the cause of guilt. Of being guilty for himself. He must make things right.

“Then I will go,” Thor turns to his Aesir friends who have perked up, weapons ready, “But alone. You must return to the Bifrost site. Be ready to return to Asgard.”

Sif and the Warriors Three pause only for the barest moments, “We will, Thor.”

They trust him. It is a balm, their solemn nods and confidence. Coulson appears by their side, gesturing with a hike of the thumb. “They can come with me. Helicopter’s heading that way now.”

Thor takes a deep breath and looks to the good people of Midgard who have become his friends. “Jane, Erik, Darcy... Please go with Lee away from here. It is dangerous.”

“But—“Jane interrupts herself with a step into Thor’s personal space.

Her delicate face is hard with a determination that is encouraging, calms him just enough. She is an exceptional example of intelligence and kindness and curiosity. He wants her to know this, somehow. He regrets being so wrapped up in his own tangles that he knows not what to say. He’s never known what to say. There’s too much he has no words for.

The helicopter’s pulsing wind picks up their hair as he kisses her hand.

And then Jane leaps to her tiptoes to return the kiss on his lips.

“Jane,” Thor starts, stops for lack of anything better to say. He leans back as much as he can without seeming reproachful. 

“It’s okay,” Jane understands. She must, because she’s so _smart_ and gives a little shake of her head a sort of embarrassed motion. “Of course. _Of course_ , you’re...” 

Thor tenses.

“You. You were telling the truth.” Jane grins and ducks her head, biting her lip. When she looks up again, the sun has caught her smile and it is a beautiful thing. “Magic really does exist.”

Thor smiles back, and touches her neck. “I wish you to know, we meant not to attack this world. I will speak with my Brother and all will be resolved.”

“Hey, a little danger doesn’t shock me,” Jane says and pokes his hand away as if to zap him with a taser, voice bubbling and open like the half of a fond memory shared. “Besides, I’ll get used to it. You’re now officially on my research team. It’d save me the trouble of taking a crash course in _Norse Mythology._ ”

“I will return safely.” Thor says, meaning it. How could he not? He has friends here. People who’d seen the worst of him and yet still loved. 

“You’d better. There’s still so much I have to learn.”

“There is always more to learn. That is the lesson I’ve found here,” Thor steps back. 

In Asgard, there is a separation. When you live behind a shield, a line in drawn between your good and bad. It becomes a fight, a struggle to keep out what shames you. But he couldn’t protect himself with shields here on Midgard. The lines had to be erased, fears faced, and eventually— Everything cancels out. 

Everything is so much simpler when you’re just you.

It’s like he’s walked into a bit of light that’s just right. Everything about him, filtered through a prism, splitting up into something so much more. It seems Midgard is the facet in which Thor has shone the brightest.

He will never forget this.

Thor watches as his friends pile into Lee’s car. He reads the simple plate on its rear as it withdraws— _STAN._ The helicopter propels up into the air, the weight of Sif and the Warriors Three hanging out of the open sides makes it wobble around. 

As their presence recedes, it feels as though he’s stepped into the shallow washes of a tide. The Destroyer towers in the distance like a lighthouse, the vast unknown stretching out like a sea. But the warmth of the shore and his friends still laps at his skin, a tickling reminder.

Thor squints at the horizon, the hot plains of the New Mexico desert crusting his vision in a gold gilded frame.

He would forgive Loki, of course. He would forgive Loki anything. Perhaps that is all they both need.

But when he walks towards the edge of town alone and says his piece, shouts to Loki that he is sorry, for anything he has done to cause pain— the Destroyer strikes him down.

Dead.

The magic tying Thor to his mortal form unravels with the lethal hit. Power tears through his body, like fire in his veins, bright whips of pain. A long nerve of lightning in the pitch black sky. This is what it is to die. 

And then in the very moment after, he is bursting, swathed in a cocoon of magic as old as it is born anew. His heartbeat is in every piece of his armor as it comes to embrace him. His cape is another limb of the wind. He is infused as the markings of his true self wrap around his arms like molten metal. The sudden weight of a familiar weapon in his hand somehow feels so very light. 

Because now he is not afraid to let go.

All Thor’s power surges out from the very inside of him until he is encased in the person he has always been.

And when the God of Thunder comes back he destroys the Destroyer with one mighty swing of Mjölnir.

*******

With stone around his heart he flies to the Bifrost site and together with Sif and the Warriors Three, their bodies refract into a rainbow of light and they go tearing across the realms.

But it’s not Heimdall waiting for them on the other side.

*******

“Thor.”

Loki greets with a whisper, a fierce glint in his eyes. Gungnir, the spear of Odin is a length of proud gold standing in his grasp. The light of the bridge has turned the sky into a fiery opal curtain, one that wavers like summer heat. 

“Go to the palace, find Heimdall,” Thor tells his friends in a voice dark and rumbling, one he scarcely recognizes except on battlefields. 

“We’ll help—“ Fandral steps forward but Thor raises Mjölnir in warning.

“No. He is _my_ brother.”

“That’s the thing, Thor,” Loki tilts his head as they retreat, their mistrusting glares searing across his face until he’s smiling. He looks at Thor with a sort of wonderment, “I’m not your brother. I never was.”

Quick as lightning, Loki’s empty hand curls around air as if he’s grasping a rope then he pulls back with a snap— a lash of magic grinds the Bifrost into another position. It points to where Thor knows Jotunheim lays. Then with a thrust, Gungnir shoots a bolt of power towards the Bifrost’s golden orb. It splinters the surface, cracks spidering out until the orb shatters wide open. Streaks of energy spike forth from the shell, long pillars of light solidifying into crystals that look like icicles.

The shock of the explosions flings Thor forwards and he lands in a heap, face first at Loki’s feet. When he looks up Loki’s face is a study in shadows, the dark cutting across the light in designs which make him appear as a stranger. 

“Loki,” The words punch their way right out of Thor, “You have condemned all of Jotunheim to destruction!” 

“That’s the plan.” Loki says, voice lilting as he stares down. “And I must say it’s been going along quite well. Be a good boy and stay out of the way.”

Thor leaps to his feet, “You cannot—!”

“Oh, but I can, and I _have._ ” Loki struts around him, chin held high. He sweeps Gungnir in a wide arrogant arc, Thor at its center point. “Here you are, in Asgard again. Your banishment, ended. Your powers, restored. And very soon, those vile creatures who dared to interrupt your coronation shall be gone.” He looks over his shoulder, “This is by my will.”

“What?” Thor breathes, “But Father—“

Loki sneers as though just remembering something contemptible, voice wavering just slightly. An echo of the inexplicable hurt Thor has seen in those green eyes before. The same pain, as though time has not moved. “I’m glad you so easily assumed Odin was to blame. Then again, why wouldn’t you? It’s so _easy_ to do something nasty in plain sight when sitting on a throne.”

The bridge quakes underneath their feet. Its usual lively surface strobes with individual colours, as if being shaken apart by red, gold, green, blue. The vibrations go up Thor’s spine, makes his bones rattle. Only Mjölnir is a steady constant in his hand, but he does not wish to use it. Wants to try and do this as just Thor.

“In truth, I was counting on pitting Odin and Laufey against each other, then dear old _Dad_ had to fall asleep. But this is far better. Kingship,” Loki grins madly, twirling Gungnir, “I could get used to it. Just think about it.— You and I, side by side. We can both be kings of wherever we please once I’m done.”

Screams of agony begin to resonate from the shattered Bifrost. The screeching of the uncontained energy slices through the voices, but Thor can hear them all the same. No one is laughing except Loki now.

“LOKI, _STOP_ THIS.”

“Aww, what made you so soft?” Loki croons, condescending. And then, with ruthless irony, strikes with precision, “A _woman_ , Thor?”

Thor’s blood boils and the lid of his rage is split off with the hard impact of Loki’s spear across his cheek. 

Loki’s voice contorts into something dark; contempt yanking at the sides of lips so hard his smile becomes a painful looking thing, all teeth and no glee.

“I can fix that too.”

The next second sees Loki lunging, a stab of energy surging from the tip of Gungnir. Thor’s pinned in place by the sizzling, like the sharp bite of a taser multiplied by a hundredfold. But Thor breaks from it, dodges Loki’s next jab, grabs him by the elbow and swings him around. Loki goes flying in the arc of a high trajectory but Gungnir pierces the rainbow bridge before he can crash. He swirls around its shaft, long legs like a pendulum to kick to Thor’s chest. 

This is where Thor is best.

He summersaults back into action to see Loki split into copies of himself, arranged in a semi-circle. They all take a step forward, trying to enclose Thor, but he twirls Mjölnir in a fist then lets it go, the rock solid hammer flying in a curve through all the apparitions until it smacks into the real Loki and throws him off his feet.

Loki multiplies again, littering the bridge with persons of varying expressions. One unstable, another gleeful. Thor can see a mournful Loki as well as one who’s out of breath. Another just standing, with a strangely adoring shine to his eyes.

“What did you think was going to happen?” The clones scream at him as one, “Thought you could stay there and kiss her and you’d wake up _changed_ — to the way you thought everyone wanted you to be?”

“No!”

Thor leaps and then slams knees first into the ground, spins faster than a blink. His cape sweeps hard enough to cut with a flash of red before he knocks the hammer down. All the clones topple in the shockwave.

“ _I_ am the one who’s always given you what you want!” The real Loki continues, grunting and sounding almost deranged as he struggles to his feet, spear at the ready. “Me! Even when you not yet knew what you so dearly wanted!”

“I do not want this!” Thor shouts back, steadying Mjölnir. They’re at a face off.

“Hadn’t you ever wondered? Why no one ever breathed a word of your insecurities—your indiscretions?” Loki lets out a bark of laughter, sounding almost lost, sounding desperate to make Thor see. “How vain, Thor. You never even considered there was someone else cleaning up your mess.”

Cold dread and realization coat the inside of Thor’s stomach as Loki continues.

“But it’s a shame, really, that most believe jealousy to be disgusting, ugly, _worthless._ Why, there’s worth in _vibrancy,_ isn’t there? No feeling quite like a dagger in the heart. I always thought of it like sliding a sword into fire. _Jealous_ people don’t bleed. They burn.” Loki tilts his head, a soft pull at the corner of his lips giving the illusion of a smile. He brings one porcelain hand to smear away the spittle from his chin. “But how I’ve loved to see it in your eyes. We are more alike than you think.”

“What are you saying?” Thor pants. He can feel that same dread bubbling up in his stomach, threatening to choke him on its bitterness. That this is all another move in one of Loki’s games; that they’re both losing and the only way to not be completely defeated is to keep playing.

“Do you think he thought himself innocent, when your friends went to quiet him?” There’s a note of wildness in Loki’s voice, “The horseman, I mean. Just because it was I who borrowed his body doesn’t mean it _wasn’t_ his fault.”

“You... you!?” Thor seethes, teeth bared at the sudden unexpected deepness of the barb. A day which felt like an eternity ago, a day he tried so hard to forget. A wrong committed not perfectly to memory. “It can’t— I,” He tries to remember the details, anything that could prove Loki wrong.

“Sorry.” Loki’s grin is terrible because it’s so sweet, so soft. His voice cradling the words tenderly, “I’m sorry, Thor. Memory erasers, you know. Don’t have a _counter_ spell.”

The image of Loki pacing in Thor’s chambers, of a storm building outside as Thor raged within. A look of intimate pain and anger upon Loki’s face as he kissed Thor, promised protection. _‘I know spells. Memory erasers.’_

It never occurred to him he might be the one spelled.

“If what you say is true,” Thor blinks back the awful tears which stand burning in his eyes, “You need not have snuck around, played your games... Made a fool of me! Of what I... I am your _Brother.”_

“NO you are _NOT_.” Loki screams, high pitched in fury. And then the words that follow dip low and menacing, until he’s whispering angrily, the gloss of vengeful tears in his gaze. “How many times did I _comfort_ you? _Protect_ you? Are you truly so stupid to not see, how often I _encouraged your attentions?”_

And the memories Thor _does_ have flood in. The slice of a promise in a palm, blood mixing. A braid in Thor’s hair. Every sly smile, every knowing look thrown his way. Of Loki catching rain. A kiss blown across the gardens and Loki’s turned up brows and soft seeking lips. Of every time he asked for what Thor sorely wanted to give.

With a cry Thor hurls the hammer and Loki’s thrown off his feet, pinned underneath its unmovable weight. Loki struggles in outrage and Thor drops to his knees beside him.

“Why?” The word rips at his throat, hysterical, leaning overtop Loki as his helmet falls away. “Why would you do this? Why?” 

Loki begins to laugh.

Thor cannot help but shake him wretchedly by the shoulders, slam him against the opalescent ground. Make him stop. Just make him stop playing, stand still. Face the here and now instead of looking into the distance for something only he can see.

_“Why?”_

Loki stares back, silent. Then tilts his head. 

“Thor, can’t you see? I’ve always known,” Loki breathes out and reaches up to delicately touch Thor’s chest. Thor can feel each fingertip like a print against his heart, like Mjölnir pressing down on him a hundredfold. A mirror image. It hurts. 

Loki smiles with something akin to sadness in his eyes, “That you like men.”

“I don’t—“ Thor begins to deny.

“That you _love_ me.”

A hot tear curls away from Loki’s eye, “And no one else will. Not now. Not when I’ve wiped everyone out. So _you_ don’t get to _stop._ ”

Love. 

It can be something beautiful or wretched. Something private, something shared. All parallels as one, like strands in rope— something that’s been twisted tighter and tighter between them but never gets small enough. Maybe it was inevitable the feeling would unwind, snap back on them with a dangerous explosion. Now it has become vaster than the open sky, a push and pull and spin of emotion. A thousand daggers spelling out what cannot be spoken on the walls of their minds, a feeling Thor has never been able to kill. Pull the blades away and all the damning thoughts come spilling out.

“I haven’t. I couldn’t.” There’s an awful lurch, as if Thor’s just run himself through on a blade. He swallows back the swell of conflicting emotions that threaten to overwhelm; hope and shame, love and anger. Vice-like panic clenches down tight on his stomach. “But you cannot do this.”

The light of the screeching Bifrost casts Loki in pale blue but the shine in his eyes is gone, a soulless look to his ashen face. He says, “Tell me why _not._ ”

Thor turns swiftly, steeling himself to do what must be done. The broken Bifrost burns like a star before him, a mess he’s going to clean up. And this lonely walk is different from the one that came before— everything is chaos. He is who he is. Time to cut ties from the shore and just _dive._

Wordlessly the hammer comes to his hand and the first swing is fluid as it hits the bridge. The second and third shake him; the fourth causes the road to flash white, the painful white right before a break.

Behind him Loki gets up with a jump, soaring towards him.

“Keep going, Thor,” Loki whispers angrily as he raises Gungnir high, its head pointed towards the shining ground at their feet. “At least we won’t be brothers. Not if we’re both _dead._ ”

The spear pierces into the bridge just as Thor slams Mjölnir down a fifth time and everything explodes into the blinding crash of magic, light and sound.

*******

There is some truth to Jane’s theory of the big bang, Thor realizes. People only try to find their way back together when everything’s blown apart.

And _anyone_ who has ever felt guilty for being who they are can still save the world.

*******


	10. Chapter 10

_This is the real you._

It’s in Thor’s dreams where Loki’s voice is clearest.

The slow stream of words is as if someone is blowing on the kindling in his heart, setting Thor on fire. He grits teeth against the tension in his arm, the joints all locked up tight. But remorse crushes down on him like gravity. He feels the weight quickly unravelling his resolve, his strength, as sure as Gungnir in his hand. As sure as Loki’s grip on the other end.

As sure as their father’s hold upon Thor as they dangle overtop the nothingness of space. 

“I have done things for both of you which I hate,” Odin says, the words filtering downwards from his place upon the broken edge of the Bifrost. Thor swallows down to try and quell the awful spiralling in his stomach, but Odin continues, “You have done the same.”

Of course he has. Thor knows this deeper than he would like, knows with great clarity all the moments in which he’d pretended for his father, his mother, his friends. Loki.

He knows why he did so. Why he would still do so, even now, if that is what his father asked it of him. But Thor does not _wish_ to any longer. For some reason, it’s so easy to see now. His father’s grip hurts more than falling.

“Boys,” Odin intones, his single eye blinking just once, slow with a calmness born of age, “This is what it means to be family.”

Rainbow shards crumble from the broken edge of the bridge, losing their glitter as they fall away down below towards the stars. Thor and Loki are bright spots amongst them, hanging from the open arm of the opal sky, tethered to Asgard only by their father. So close to being set free. 

The thin clouds stretch endlessly, thicker as they go. There’ll be thunder coming in tonight. Every night.

_The stars don’t always have to shine._

Loki had told him this one such night back on their first adventure. Back down in _Alfheim_ when they’d had monsters to fight.

_The skies aren’t always clear. This is a natural part of the world. Even when we’re apart and I fall down or feel dull, I always remember you’re my big brother and it makes things seem right again._

Loki had laughed and then crossed his arms, looking up at the cloudy night sky through the dark leaves, nudged his shoulder against Thor’s. _Not like I’ll go around saying this all the time, mind you, so listen. You are mighty, Thor. Should you find yourself in a rut, stop running and just fly. Never forget— in all the realms, and all the universe, there’s no one like you._

“Loki...” Thor thinks of all these words and his heart sinks. “Loki, you can’t! Please, _hold on._ Don’t leave me—“

“Follow,” Loki whispers in reply, the deep swirls of the sky stretching wide across his eyes as he lets go. Falls and falls and falls.

It’s a strange dream.

Whenever Thor has it he wakes with a tear crawling away from his cheek, like a single droplet escaping the thunderstorm raging inside.

*******

Thor stirs from another restless slumber, pushing aside the linen bed sheets. He swings legs over the rim of the couch, rubs a hand over his face and combs knotted back hair. Thor’s index finger finds a thin braid amongst the curls and hooks around it, slipping down until his hand falls back into his lap. He gets up quietly.

Light from the moon filters in through the bay window in the small living room, pushing shadows across the walls and floors like they weigh nothing. The days and nights are longer than he remembers, despite time moving faster in this place; Midgard.

He does not remember falling. Perhaps he didn’t, for all he dreams of it, but it seems more like a memory from long ago, a small precious bead in a string of memories old enough to be outworn. Maybe if he were still in Asgard the explosion on the Bifrost had only happened days ago. Maybe even minutes. Thor has no way of knowing for certain, only knows no one has come looking. Maybe in Asgard he was dead.

He remembers the landing, at any rate. The hard shock of the desert on his back and the dark of night stretching boldly towards him as he lay on the summer-baked New Mexico ground, much like the first time he arrived. Thor stayed there stargazing, unwilling to move until the sky pulled up its skirts and revealed dawn.

Then he’d walked, not thinking of the time lost in between journeys, until he found the help he needed; Mr. Lee in Santa Fe. The old man welcomed Thor into his home and now Thor does his best to repay the kindness in ways he can. Heavy lifting here and there, construction work at the rebuild sites in Puente Antiguo. A bit of tidying in the house. 

Thor goes to the small kitchen sink, dipping a cupped hand under the running water to catch some and bring it to his mouth. Absentmindedly, he puts away a few dishes from the night before. 

The mess in the kitchen is nothing compared to Jane’s old trailer and the comparison sends Thor reeling with a sort of nostalgic heartache. He knows time has stretched long enough for Jane, Erik, and Darcy to have moved on, their research lab gone. Just as well, anyway. Jane’s tied to her own brand of magic, something this world desperately needs. They’ll meet again eventually— Thor gave his word.

Besides, there’s someone else he’s looking for.

Thor crosses from the kitchen, through the living room and towards the front door which sits on a landing just down a short flight of stairs. He skips the one squeaky step to grab his boots. Lee won’t wake for another few hours yet, and that’s good. 

He can go flying.

Oh, Thor has searched. He is not without his powers now and everyday he flies through the countryside and above the cities, looking wherever is within his means. Struggling to find another bead in that string of memories, like the sudden shine of a gem in a crowd. But there is nothing.

He does not find Loki.

*******

A few months later, something in New York explodes.

*******

“He loves me.”

Loki lazily points and then snaps his fingers. A tiny ball of golden energy goes hurtling after another screaming human. They stream together unevenly; bumping and falling down and creating stunning mayhem. A grin cracks across Loki’s lips for a moment as he watches the stupid man run, until the spell hits a streetlamp, its pole splitting as if struck by lightning. It falls over, spreading flames into the road and the human lives to see another day. 

The glee drops away from Loki’s face leaving it blank as he stares. 

“He loves me not.”

He becomes aware of the blankness showing through and the next second he sneers, snaps fingers again. A ball of icy blue goes slicing through the air towards another unfortunate target.

It’s a silly game. 

The petals of a long-since plucked flower lay beneath his idly swinging feet. Really silly, since most of the swarms of humans have gone now and yet he’s still destroying random objects along the street. There’s very little point to this game if he can make up the rules as he goes, but Loki finds he does not truly want to win. When things become too ruined it’s easier to find an excuse to keep going than to stop.

“Hmmm,” Loki hums to himself, leaning back on his hands. He cocks his head, surveying the playing field from his high perch with a sort of detachment. Boredom. 

_“You will outgrow these games_ ,” Father had told him. Long ago, when he and Thor were at odds and hadn’t talked for ages— when Thor became owner of Mjölnir and Loki was told to apologize. 

_“Loki, do not act as if you know not of what I speak, of the way you treat your brother— Mischief and laughter cannot last forever. He will get hurt.”_

_“Father, you mistake me,”_ Loki had answered him then, in a lethargic sort of voice. The sort of voice he used when he could no longer dredge up the effort to reach for anything but the truth, _“I love Thor.”_

_“Then you will outgrow this childish love! Put away the indulgences and find your place in Asgard.”_

_But look where we are,_ Loki thinks. 

This is no Asgard and they are children yet.

An air of amusement colours Loki’s movements as he neatly jumps from his high seat atop a monument. His feet hit the ground with a soft _click_ and he brushes his hair back. It’s gotten much longer, it seems. Time’s relative. 

His procession begins.

Pathetic stragglers run from him now, weaving between the smoking punctures left in the road. They’re like ants fleeing from a boot and Loki feels like a giant. Could he learn to live here? He doubts it. At the moment it seems as if he is framed inside a repulsive painting and the only way to escape is by erasing the background, piece by piece. Planet Earth’s too small.

Thor landed here first. Of this, Loki is certain. But somewhere else.

Loki is attuned to these things. He could tell the moment he’d crashed into this disgusting realm and found himself in the ice and cold muck of wintery city streets. He could sense Thor’s presence despite its scant trace. It was in the way the clouds rolled across the skies during the day. Old magic, like the fragrance of the earth, unnoticeable until all the human dirt gets washed away. A magic Loki feels strongest in the thunder on a stormy night. 

It drives him mad. Then again, he hears magic does that to the mind. 

But what Loki wants now is a fight. He _yearns_ for it, wants Thor to come find him, perhaps just for an excuse to be taken apart piece by piece too. Except Thor’s not looking. 

_What sort of love is this,_ Loki thinks. _When you would rather hate yourself in someone’s presence than suffer their absence?_

What sort of heart does he have, that it should be cold where there should be warmth? Loki grits his teeth and whips his head to the side to blow something else up. It’s only when Thor comes around and gives his blood a reason to race when Loki remembers his heart’s there.

The thought of Thor ignoring him, choosing to forget instead of confront, sets Loki on edge. It sets a sick sort of spin inside his chest, like a blacksmith’s stone, sharpening him into a blade with its hot burn. It’s beautiful in its danger, this affection. Beguiling. Maybe that’s why it’s the only one which works— _Safe_ games just aren’t as fun.

Whatever.

Loki pays the reasons no mind. If Thor won’t come then _he’ll_ take this world apart. Make it great by reducing everything to dust. Loki will use this burn as a weapon; destroy enough of the picture until Thor’s _forced_ to look. When all the realms of the universe are gone there won’t be anything left in the way. Maybe _then_ he’ll fit and they can find each other in the emptiness. 

There’s something beautiful about that too.

Loki knows there must be a seed of remorse in him for this terrible ideal. The guilt must be there, _somewhere_ inside... Possibly. It’s just not his fault if every now and then he forgets to feel it. But sometimes you can’t be fine and good at the same time. Sometimes you _have_ to be cruel, because if you really _try_ to be good, even if you don’t feel like it— well. That’s lying. 

_Thor’s been guilty enough for the both of us._

Loki pauses as the thought flashes through his mind. The glow of a burgeoning spell fades as he turns his hand over to stare at his palm. 

The scar has flared to life, an ugly reminder of a promise, its slight curve smiling for him when he can’t. Loki usually doesn’t bother with other people’s promises, all too aware of how easy they become lies. Because words can change. 

But even back then he had known, with a detached kind of understanding, of what it would mean for them. Of what it would mean for Thor. Loki always found himself thinking in this way, approaching problems as if he wasn’t really himself. As if he was always somewhere outside his own body, pulling the strings. So he did know, vaguely, that what they were promising to each other was impossible to undergo with innocence unscathed. 

Perhaps loving and hurting Thor is the same thing.

But some things are just like that— starting off as silly games and then getting strangely passionate all of a sudden, so much so you have to either stop lying to yourself or keep laughing. Spend enough time smiling and happiness might throw you a bone.

Loki stops in the dead silent street, remembering. A sort of shatter of memories that spider web out and make him shake.

For Loki didn’t quite feel— when he’d cut himself with that dagger, asking Thor to swear. 

But he did experience a kind of stinging sensation as Thor had sliced himself in reply. A strange burning in his gut as he watched the blood ooze down the side of Thor’s wrist. Conviction, as the two sides of skin pulsed around the cut, slow and lazy. Like an eyelid falling asleep. Sometimes he dreads the scars will reopen and they’ll both wake up. 

_Thor deserves so much better._

Even in the cold emptiness of that thought there is a wash of hope which dulls Loki’s sharpness over. A kind of blinding belief in Thor’s love and strength which blankets his own black emotions; covers them up so he doesn’t need to feel them anymore. All that’s left is this simple sweet ache, a pain just enough to make sure he’s alive.

_But he loves **me.**_

And Loki needs Thor more than anything else. A reason to keep going. Even though maybe it would have been better for them both, if the other didn’t exist. 

He makes a fist, squeezing closed around that promise in his palm. He walks alone through the wreckage, the place in this world he’s carved out. He clenches his bared teeth and it becomes a sort of smile, a bit vacant but still comforting, like a single closed bracket on the end of a sentence which has somehow become lost.) 

Because if it doesn’t hurt— if love isn’t cruel, just a little bit, then it isn’t real. 

And Loki always keeps up his end of the deal.

*******

Something else in New York explodes.

*******

The front door opens.

Thor can hear as it swings on its hinges. He blows an overgrown lock of hair out of his face, hands a little busy at the kitchen sink. The one squeaky step going up into the foyer lets out a loud groan and that’s how Thor knows it’s not Lee.

The intruder knows he’s been caught by this too and does not bother to disguise the rest of his entrance.

“I wouldn’t have expected someone like you to lay low.” 

Thor has paused in his ministrations and he uses this opening to slowly pull rubber-gloved hands out from the soapy dishwater and turn around. 

“My continued presence on your world was not planned.” Thor removes the gloves, “Son of Coul. Greetings.”

Agent Coulson bounces once on his heels, hands clasped neatly in front of him and a pleasant expression on his face. “Long time no see, Thor. Or do you prefer God of Thunder?”

“Just Thor is fine.” Thor says, stepping away from the sink, wary, but Coulson does not make any moves to take a seat. He just stands there, posture straight in his plain black suit, right next to the couch that has Thor’s blanket draped over the cushion.

Thor has not seen this man since the events of his banishment and Coulson’s presence is a sign, Thor is certain. Though he does not know whether it is good or bad. Still, it starts his pulse racing with anticipation and Thor’s face tightens as he keeps control.

“In that case, call me Phil,” Coulson offers. “The last time you showed up on our radars, you left... quite the impression.” 

Thor feels faintly shy by the way his stomach flutters, “As did you.”

Coulson looks confused for a moment and then maybe he understands, for he clears his throat uncomfortably. He then walks forwards, around the small kitchen, taking in the washed dishes and the remnants of lunch for one. Thor hastily takes off his apron.

“Where’s your roommate?”

“You know.” Thor is not ignorant of this man’s powers; of the eyes humans have everywhere.

“At a conference, next town over, which is why I’m here now.” Coulson nods, acknowledging the strategic move with details. He switches topics, “I would have thought you would be with the physicist, Miss Foster, but I hear you’re helping to rebuild the town that was destroyed. Is that your job now?”

“I am earning my keep. Repaying the debts for my stay.” 

And the after effects of his presence, Thor does not say. His good friend Jane is out of reach. He’s tried researching her by himself, but there is only so far his knowledge of Midgard will stretch. And yet, he thinks perhaps it is by her design she cannot be easily found, so that agents like Coulson will not sense her magic again.

“And _that’s_ what we didn’t know. What an alien from another dimension could be doing on Earth,” Coulson tilts his head, the question in statement loud and clear, “For six months.”

“You have been watching me.” Thor almost smiles, amused by his own vanity, but mostly embarrassed someone has seen his failure so wholly. He’s stopped looking, after all. You can’t find the dead.

Thor murmurs, “Why?”

Coulson’s brow wrinkles just slightly, “What if I told you I had a place for you, a branch off the division I work for. Somewhere you could earn accommodations by helping the entire world instead?”

Thor cannot help the suspicion that overtakes him. Coulson’s organization had been responsible for stealing Jane’s research. Despite the help SHIELD had been, Thor himself would not want to become a thief or voyeur in the name of defence. 

“I am not interested in such pursuits.”

“Oh, I see.” Coulson uses this opportunity to sit lightly upon the back of the couch as though this conversation is comfortable. He looks up Thor with a plaintive expression. “You require incentive.”

“No, it is—“

“Puente Antiguo. My base. The pilots who went down attacking your extraterrestrial security. Your friends. Yourself, even.” Coulson tilts his head, “I don’t believe you feel no responsibility.”

The mention of these causalities sours Thor’s previous words. Coulson is right, in some regard. Thor has always been callous about the circumstances of war. If he is to live on Midgard, Thor needs to amend these mistakes too.

“Well, I’m _also_ in security, Thor. And truth is a situation has come up where we need you. People like you, with a... _powerful_ skill set.” Coulson goes so far as to sound concerned, “You’re wasted here.”

Thor squeezes his bottom lip between thumb and forefinger, thinking it over, but knowing in his heart he must move forward. Move on.

“I will not be a spy?” He asks hopefully.

Coulson lets out a short laugh. “No, we leave that to less... conspicuous people.”

“Then allow me to retrieve my cape.” Thor has had no use for his armor on this world up until this point and his Asgardian garments rest in a cabinet up the stairs, idle.

“Already taken care of,” Coulson immediately stands and pulls a phone out of his jacket pocket. Punches the screen a few times, then looks Thor up and down with a sort of scrutinizing approval, “Might have to forgo the sleeves. You’re bigger than I remembered.”

Thor is shocked into a blush.

The staircase creaks and Agent Coulson swings an arm at him. “Come on, jet’s waiting. Oh, and before I forget to mention—“

Thor watches Coulson pause in awe as Mjölnir comes flying to his hand with a wordless call and the arch of Thor’s eyebrow quirks up, almost arrogantly. All that changes with what Coulson says next.

“We’ve found Loki.”

*******

Another something in New York explodes.

*******

There’s the long sizzling screech of rubber against asphalt and then someone leans on their horn.

The sound begins to blare persistently as Thor straightens from the crater his boots have accidentally left upon the earth. The concave bit of pavement is steaming, a side effect from the lightning strike that came just before. His arrival’s marked.

“Good afternoon, fine New Yorkers,” Thor announces to the increasing staccato of horns. “I come in peace!”

“Move it!” A man inside a yellow car yells, waving an enthusiastic finger.

Thor smiles at him and waves back, recognizing this vehicle as a taxi. Then he’s scanning the surroundings with a squint. This side of Midgard is all bright and flashing buildings cramped close together stretching towards the sky, like arms adorned with glowing bangles reaching up. It is very festive.

The taxi roars and edges closer, “Hey, Superman! Up, up and away, alright!?”

“Apologies,” Thor swipes an errant strand of hair from his face with a thumb, tucking it behind his ear. “Is this 72nd street?”

“No, no, no!” The passenger yells at him. “Ya gotta go 5 blocks over!”

Just then, a gigantic plume of smoke explodes upwards in the direction her arm is hiked out the window. Seems like Loki’s encouraging attention.

Thor beams, “Thank you ma’am!”

The cool of winter has reddened his cheeks, but he is not bothered by it. In fact, it’s invigorating, like the languid blanket of New Mexico heat has slipped away. Wide awake. Restless. He’s always like that right before a storm.

The wind blows life into his cape, a bright curtain of red against the silver monochrome of the city. His bare arms bulge as he begins swinging Mjölnir around on its strap. The force of which stirs up the air, even makes the nearby cars creak and sway. Someone’s alarm gets tripped. And then he’s blasting back up into the sky, all sound rushing away to form the trail left behind.

There is neither good nor bad in this universe. The nine realms curl around each other just the same, each growing and tangling together, overlapping, layering the world full of life. Life is everything. There is place for all upon Yggdrasil’s branches, there is a reason why he’s here now and why Loki didn’t die. All of this was somehow meant to be, because he can be no other way. 

Thor’s going to save Loki first. Midgard second. If it just so happens to be the same fight, that’s alright with him. The thing about falling is it always put you somewhere new. 

And wherever he and Loki are together, it’s safe.

*******

Something very heavy and very fast clunks Loki right in the back of the head.

“Ow.” Loki deadpans, face first in the grimy winter-thin grass. 

A telltale thud alerts Loki of someone landing on the ground. There’s a pleased little flutter in the bottom of Loki’s stomach, amongst all the anger that’s built up for being ignored. He rolls over onto his back, digging elbows into the dirt to prop himself up.

“You didn’t miss.” Loki comments, the sides of his mouth itching as he tilts his head, “Hello, Thor. Finally got my message?”

Thor looks gloriously like himself; proud and tall and powerful. Framed by wisps of gold hair, the face he’s wearing is determined and Mjölnir sails from its seat in the dirt past Loki’s ear to his waiting hand.

It’s all Loki could have hoped for.

“You could have just called,” Thor tells Loki in that deep resonating voice.

Loki lets his head fall back, unable to lose an opportunity to laugh. “Where would be the fun in that?”

The ball of energy shoots from his hand before he’s even thought, exploding squarely against Thor’s chest. Thor goes careening, barrelling into the ground so hard his side tears a seam of bricks out of the path. Loki’s glad of it. Central Park was really quite dull looking without his personal touch.

“Rest assured, Thor.” Loki gets up, dusting off his draping black coat and with a shift in the air he’s covered in golden armor. “Jotunheim was only the first. When I’m through with Midgard, I’ll make sure Asgard is _next._ ” 

See, it’s not that he _wants_ to do these things, though there’s definitely a pleasurable sensation, at seeing Thor on his back. It’s actually just a natural progression. He and Thor _need_ to be at each other’s throats to get any closer. They’ve already done everything else.

“You cannot destroy entire worlds as recompense!” Thor yells back before even pushing out of the ditch. He spits out some rocks, pauses to look surly for a moment before standing up and rotating one muscular arm in its joint. “I would not allow more destruction to come to this world.”

“What else is there to do in this boring realm?” Loki almost wants to roll his eyes. “Why don’t you go back on the ale, you’re more fun when you’re drunk.”

“You would know,” Thor growls with an ugly grimace and Loki preens.

In fact, these are all hollow words that hurt Loki more than they probably hurt Thor. But it works wonders in his favour, inspiring a bit of fury. Thor’s always easier to influence this way. Besides, Loki likes him when he’s angry.

Because Thor’s good enough for the both of them. And it’s far easier for Loki to enjoy being bad. 

It’s almost like a dance in a way, how they know all the steps. Know just where to punch and kick and stab and make it seem like they’re fighting to kill each other when it’s only really to kill time. 

Night falls winter-quick and Loki gets a good laugh out of the way Thor falls for a little bit of magic, trying to tackle a clone into the cold ground. Then Thor grabs two of Loki’s discarded knives and throws them faster than Loki can dodge. He’s pinned against a tree, the blades lodged in its trunk on either side of his head. His golden helm falls to the ground with a crack, one horn lying in a puddle.

“Oh, that was slick.” Loki admires, a tingling starts deep in his feet and bursting upwards. A firework going off inside his darkness, exploding until he can feel it in his heart.

And Thor’s there, right there, in front of him. Looking grim and all warmed up. His hand shoots out and catches Loki by the neck, fingers wring into his collar. Thor’s fist at his neck is a knot and Loki’s just a pile of loose ends, unravelling faster than he can keep it together. 

_It’s no wonder I need this_ , Loki thinks with a sort of wonder that separates him from the moment, just enough so that he can appreciate the pain. If he’s not tied to Thor he’ll fall apart for good.

Now this place is starting to feel more like home.

“Loki, _stop._ ” Thor implores.

“I’ve tried so hard,” Loki replies, finding he’s out of breath. But the urge to keep going is so hard to ignore. 

“Enough,” Thor blinks rapidly, his anger quickly melting, face looking so soft. So young. “We’re here together. We’re free.”

But Loki knows what freedom is. 

At first, it was a fairy tale. Some golden promise he’d heard as a child. A kind of place he could go to in his mind, do whatever he wanted, be who he wanted. Be the best. He remembers wanting to take Thor there with him, whenever Thor was feeling low. Tried to so much, but Thor always had a captured quality about him in their youth and so stayed still, going around in circles. 

Somewhere along the line Loki’s mind changed though, and where there was once peace became war. He’d hated Thor, for a while. Wondered why Thor couldn’t just escape, stop hiding, go away with Loki to that place. Perhaps thinking too much led to trouble, or maybe trouble just found them. Either way, with Thor trapped Loki couldn’t just _leave him,_ and in the end, he got caught too.

He’d thought freedom was a flat out lie, second.

But he was wrong. Freedom does exist— just not in the way they were taught. See, the only way to truly be free is to receive everything you ever wanted and have it taken away. And, oh, Loki knows that _well._

“I’ve been a King,” He says, feeling his voice vibrate in Thor’s grasp. “But I couldn’t _warm_ the throne. And you love me,” the fingers on his throat loosen, “But you don’t let yourself _desire_ me. So, no, Thor. It’s not enough. I haven’t done _enough._ I’m still empty.” Loki feels like an echo, like he’s saying this from somewhere else, somewhere far away, and every time he does it gets a little fainter. A little less convicted.

Loki can only keep going.

“I’ve felt my dreams become real, and I’ve seen my nightmares take over. I have nothing, Thor. _That_ is true freedom.” Loki thrusts his hand without even thinking of it. Stabs Thor in the side with a tiny hidden blade, a harmless thing, only just enough to punctuate his words with a sting.“The feeling of nothing in your chest.”

Thor’s eyes flash as he lets go of Loki to clutch his side. Loki steps away and the space allows winter to blow its icy breath back down his neck which has become wet with sweat. Hot. He shivers, turns his back on Thor. The chill calms, if only because it gives him an excuse to try and find another reason to become warm. He begins to walk.

“Liar.” 

He keeps going.

Then, Thor calls after him, louder than before:

“You’re lying!”

Loki stops. Says over his shoulder, “Shut up.”

“I thought you dead.” Thor continues, walking proud and strong despite all the cuts and bruises. Mighty— How Loki has always seen him. “It is why I did not find you.”

“I thought so too,” Loki replies in that voice, the one he uses when mendacity takes too much effort. He looks away, “When you did not appear.”

“If you really think you are so empty, then why has it always been you whose kind words have filled me the most?”

Loki sneers, “Was that really me? It’s only when I’m someone else I’m wanted.”

“Then you know how I have felt.” Thor takes the last steps and they are side by side again, facing the same way. “How I’ve felt for near a lifetime.”

Loki can hear sirens in the distance. The city rush makes the calm of their battlefield that much more pronounced. Makes the real world seem as if it has been pushed far out, the clutter gone. 

“I’ve lied too.” Thor murmurs, the honesty in his voice hooking into Loki more than anything else. “What you taught me needs to be heard again. Just because you do not want to feel what is in your heart, doesn’t mean it’s not there. You exist.”

“It’s too late.” Loki shakes his head, “Things can’t be fixed.”

And Thor whispers his name then, raw and admonishing. Sweeps in front of him and says on the edge of that breath, “There’s nothing wrong.”

Loki stares at him. Waits to feel removed, so he can insult Thor or stab him again and leave without remorse. But it doesn’t happen. His eyes flit around to different points, trying to make sense of it. Wondering why he hasn’t gone. It’s like he has been a shadow all this time and somehow Thor’s nailed him on the spot. They’re together in this strong knot, and suddenly his heart is beating so fast he is afraid. 

Perhaps there’s something other than blankness on his face, because Loki finds himself crushed in an embrace, head buried underneath Thor’s chin.

“You are well, Brother.” Thor says, the words going straight into Loki’s chest.

“This is where I always find myself,” Loki says into the muffle, overwhelmed by Thor’s smell. His touch. He wants this so much it hurts. “Following you.”

Does Thor know? Loki wonders, squeezing his eyes shut against the heat of Thor’s neck. When he’s busy watching Thor’s back he’s also waiting for Thor to leave. It’s a diametrically opposed ideal. Loki gathers his wits and drags himself out from the hold.

He carefully places his hands upon Thor’s cheeks.

“But I realized...” Loki’s eyelashes fan down and obscure his vision just enough. A slight smile hooks his lips. Thor’s stubble has grown, a hot sharpness against the cool of his palms. Pain on so many ends can become a pleasant sensation, strange and exciting, like a thousand swords aflame. 

Loki looks up again, “... If you were Asgard’s King I could never touch you.”

He sweeps a thumb across Thor’s cheekbone. His blue eyes are like dark gray clouds in the low light, staring at Loki with such earnestness. In truth, ever since Loki realized Thor’s affections, he’d known. 

Odin may have given him Mjölnir, but Thor was Loki’s to keep. And Thor was stubborn, just as the hammer had been; refused to do what Loki wanted, refused to be used carelessly as just a bit a fun—  
And Loki knew then too. He would need to be worthy to have Thor’s love.

“Later, I thought, perhaps you could follow me for a change. _I_ would be your King. _I_ would keep you safe.” 

He cannot help his grip tightening, thumb pressing hard into Thor’s face, “But it was the same. Side by side, but never touching. One always following the other,” If he’s snarling it’s not his fault. He can’t be fine and good at the same time. 

“Trapped by the word _Brother._ ”

The word cages them in, puts them in boxes. Turns out that’s not even the _truth._

Loki wants to smash it all down, turn the world into rubble. Rip it all up until they’re all that’s left and no one will ever call them wrong or right. The world just _is._ Everything is just the way it must be and he has to be alright with that if he wants to keep standing, keep being who he thought he was instead of an empty monster, and keep Thor by his side as he’s always been. But he wants _more._ And yet, the more you love someone the harder it is to say; the easier it is to harm. 

Perhaps if they’d cared less about each other one of them could have worn the crown.

It is vexing, really. How Thor should not be enough for him yet somehow is and still Loki _hungers._ Because in reality he has nothing, and the sentiment only really starts to sink in when Thor comes around, reminds him how much love there is to give and yet _hold it at bay._

“I wanted to be your everything. But I... took without asking.” Loki’s vision blurs and he feels his mouth stretch across a horrified smile. Smiling when things go bad cancels them out, in a way. He smiles too much. It’s a habit hard to break. “Like Allfather like son, I suppose.”

This is when Thor reaches up. Removes Loki’s clutching hands from his face. Lightly. More affectionate than one would expect Thor to be, at first glance. His fingers wrap around Loki’s thinner wrists and together they let gravity slowly bring them down. Thor’s always been that way— Gentle. You just wouldn’t know it until he smiles, and then it’s a promise. Thor’s not smiling now, but he has a look in his eyes, like he could be on the edge. And Loki’s always been happy being the push.

Thor is looking down at him, the flurries of winter floating into the golden crown of his head, like stars dancing. The night is never dark here, not really, and Loki can see the hazy rainbow lights of the city melting together in the distance, a parody of the bridge they’d more than crossed. 

It’s only after a storm when the world is at its most beautiful. They’re always in the middle of a storm.

 _I need you to end it._ Loki thinks, biting his lower lip and staring up at Thor, willing him to hear yet loath to give life to his own weakness. _You’ll not be alone. I would give you every bit of what you ask— Love in all the ways you need, even if it hurts._

Loki clenches his teeth, brow creasing. _I cannot be a monster if I have you to protect._

“You have done things for me which you hate.” Thor says quietly, uses his thumbs to graze a comforting line down the backs of Loki’s knuckles and then brings Loki’s wrists to lie against his chest. Then says without flinching, “I forgive you.”

And Loki has no power over the way his own fingers and toes curl in. Oh, how he withers in delight with the first chilling shivers of pleasure, just as one gets when stepping into sun. He feels warm, knowing Thor understands. He leans into Thor’s chest, knees weak, closing his eyes against the feeling. He feels worthy, even though it’s Thor who lifts him up. He _loves_ Thor. Wants to say it, wants to show it, just _wants so much._

“Don’t push me away yet, I...” Loki whispers in an exhale across Thor’s chin, and the word get lost like shadows in a great burst of light, “—you.”

He stands on tiptoes to press forward and Loki’s mouth meets Thor’s in a kiss.

*******


	11. Chapter 11

Mjölnir drops to the ground.

Blood rushes fast and loud, roaring in Thor’s ears as Loki presses a kiss ever so gently against him. He can see the way Loki’s eyes drop closed, bits of snow drifting into dark hair. He can feel the way Loki’s wrists twist in his grip, softly—not trying to break free— just slowly turning, like a compass finding north. Loki’s lips catch against his own slowly, careful, warm. 

Loki always kisses opposite to how he acts.

Thor’s awareness of himself comes afterwards, an afterthought. He finds his hand has slid under Loki’s neck, thumb pressed into the tender underside of Loki’s sharp jaw, tilting his head up. Realizes his other hand is upon Loki’s arm, holding tight.

Thor scarcely registers much else until the moment Loki ends the kiss and looks at Thor with those wide green eyes and then away, as if he can hide their glassiness. Loki’s mouth falls open, the tip of his tongue pushing against that perfect row of bottom teeth. He takes a shuddering deep gulp of air, fingers curled overtop the rim of Thor’s breastplate, wrists still lined up together as though bound as he rests back on flat feet.

It’s so confusing, watching war play out on Loki’s face. He looks like he’s struggling against a foe he can’t see and—

 _It’s me,_ Thor thinks in shock. _I’m the one who’s always stopped you._

“Alright,” Loki says then, breaking the moment with his voice, deliberately light, joking. “Okay,” He blinks rapidly, his shaking fingers curling into fists upon Thor’s chest. When Loki looks up again, the city lights catch his face and the side of his mouth pulls, like he’s trying to smile viciously but can’t seem to get his face to cooperate, “That’s okay, Thor.”

But it’s not okay. Not when Loki’s just standing there, stock-still, breath streaming out in warm gusts that tinge the air between them. Breath like smoke from an invisible fire, stamped out somewhere inside. It’s in this moment Thor realizes Loki’s waiting for rejection.

 _Do you truly see me as such?_ Thor thinks forlornly, almost disbelieving. _Don’t you know how highly I think of you? Me, who has lived in a shadow of your greatness?_

It has always been of Loki whom Thor has been jealous— but now he knows. This jealousy is a flame that has burned them both.

_I promise I will not turn away from you again._

Loki waits for a beat longer before he leans back just enough for his weight to become an anchor in Thor’s arms. Panic rushes through Thor lightning fast. It’s as if Loki moving away pulls a feeling straight from Thor’s chest. It’s as if Thor is finally going over the edge of a mountain after struggling through years of holding on. The shields come down in the freefall and all that’s left is the swirl of dread and resignation flying away to reveal a deep resounding relief. 

Thor bands an arm around Loki’s back firmly and they’re pressed together. Loki seems confused, but Thor reacts immediately, feels the closeness to his brother he’s missed, all the way down to his toes. He remembers hugging Loki close like this before, the gem-like memories clustered closer in childhood and spread thinly in more recent times. He remembers the way Loki would keep him warm and happy whenever he was feeling down. 

Thor can’t believe he’s turned away from this for so long. He’s pushed Loki away just because he didn’t understand. Wasn’t ready to. Thor hadn’t accepted himself, not fully, until now. He had been so busy holding onto the guilt he’d carried for so long he never realized he could let it go. 

It’s only when you let go of everything that hurts you there’s room for freedom in your hands. 

“Thor, let go—“

Thor touches a gentle thumb to the corner of Loki’s temple and the reprimand dies in the air. Thor’s heart is pounding, the blood pulsing so thick and painful that it’s difficult to tell if the feeling lancing through his gut is fear or excitement. He needs to say it. Loki has to know. 

“Loki, please,” Thor sees himself reflected in Loki’s eyes. They’re more alike than he’d thought. “You were right.” He allows the sentiment to pass between them, unable to speak of it lest it be twisted into something else. 

“It’s you.” Thor says, the words sounding as if they have crossed an immeasurable divide, “Always you. More than anyone else.”

“Then _show_ me,” Loki nearly groans, a fast burst of words hot against Thor’s face in the winter cool. As if the relief has rushed up like ground to meet Loki too. His hands come alive, searching across Thor’s chest and face, quick and nimble. “Show me, Thor. The real you.”

“I want to,” Thor confesses, gripping Loki’s neck fiercely. 

Loki’s fingertips are soft against his collarbone, walking up to touch his throat, the curve of his jaw, lightly sticking to the chapped skin of his lower lip. 

“I want you to,” Loki whispers, voice dipped low and Thor sucks in a cold gulp of air. Doesn’t even realize he’s squeezed Loki closer still until the sides of their noses brush. Thor is throbbing all over as a rush of heat wraps around his neck, desire choking him. Loki’s fingers curve around Thor’s chin to tip his head down so Loki can slip words slowly into his mouth, “Let _me_ be the judge of what... I... like.” 

“Come here,” Thor breathes.

And then everything is a soft mash of lips, full of uncoordinated affection and maybe even a bit of competitiveness. That’s the way everything Thor does is. But Loki doesn’t fight it, just tilts his head back in Thor’s grasp, allows Thor to kiss however he pleases. Thor knows he is acting too swift, too desperate with the short sharp kisses he cannot help peppering all over Loki’s face, but love is a feeling that pours. Once you overflow it’s impossible to stop. 

“ _Mmpff! Thorfff_ —” Loki squirms under the attentions, sounding too amused for it to be a complaint.

But Thor’s kisses are messy, childish, and perhaps that’s why Loki lets loose a tiny snicker after Thor smushes his lips against the side of Loki’s nose. Why Loki gets a palm against Thor’s mouth and pushes his face away just enough so Thor is forced to relent. Annoyed, Thor squints down at Loki who has the gall to laugh outright, cheeks red and eyes bright. 

And then Loki leans close to rub his nose against Thor’s, hand dropping to rest against the deep rise and dip of Thor’s chest. The press of Loki’s hand is heavy against the flutter in Thor’s heart, a flutter so fast it feels like he could disappear at any moment. Thor finds himself panting, wanting with more fervor he’s ever known, as Loki presses answering warm kisses to his cheek, nose, upper lip. Unthinkably patient. A feather-light drag of lips against the apple of Thor’s throat. A shallow lick to the spot just under Thor’s ear. 

“Slow down, mighty Thor,” Loki whispers into the bristles on his chin. 

Thor swallows thickly. Only has the chance to take a rough draw of air through his nose right before Loki is back on his toes, cupping Thor behind his head and kissing him back soundly. Thor’s mouth falls open at a soft yank to his hair, Loki’s got Thor’s braid wound around his hand and then everything is warm and wet. Loki’s tongue is slick and hot and armed with smooth licks that he slips across the broad of Thor’s tongue, slow but powerful and just right. Thor’s chest gets tight as the onslaught continues; the pressure heavy on his lungs to the point of where he’s breathless, lightheaded, dizzy. It’s only then when Loki lets up.

Loki’s eyes are dark, his teeth scraping slowly along his bottom lip which falls open, red, wet. Then Loki smirks, a deliberate self-satisfied curl that does something to the pit of Thor’s stomach. A hook that always slides in deep and makes Thor reel. 

“Loki,” Thor groans against Loki’s lips, squeezing his eyes together. Thor takes a shuddering breath and clenches rolls of smooth leather that stretches across Loki’s slender back. It feels so good.

“Mmhm?” Loki hums and lifts one eyebrow. Thor only knows this because they’re so close he can feel it, because Loki decides when the breather is long enough. He kisses Thor again until the movements are long and sweeping, deep and languid, back and forth. Loki’s hands copy his tongue, gliding up and down Thor’s bare arms like a hot shiver and—oh—

A crack of lightning splits across the sky overhead, opening it up to send a rush of snow careening around them. Flakes pour through the air, riding the wind as Thor’s bright red cape wavers in the current, curling around them and then whipping back out. 

Thor gasps and breaks the kiss, panting. He swallows thickly, feeling flushed all over. Hot. His mouth keeps falling open and it takes Thor a second to get it together, but Loki is no better. His face is a mess of pale skin rubbed red, glistening with sweat, eyes dancing. His breath unfurls across his face like a length of lace and a tuft of black hair on the side of his head stands folded out, like a wing. 

“Look at you,” Loki says, sounding almost in awe. But that’s madness, really. Loki is the only one Thor ever saw.

There’s the call of ravens in the distance, the hum of the city, the whistle of the wind. He’s thrown back to when Loki used to taunt him, encourage the sort of attention Thor was ashamed of giving. Blow kisses. Thor is nearly afraid of where it all goes from here but Loki dispels Thor’s thoughts by linking arms around his neck. Their closeness pushes everything else away. 

Loki presses a chaste kiss against Thor’s lips and then fall back to his heels, pulling Thor down those extra inches. Thor follows. That same expression paints Loki’s face, the one where it’s obvious to Thor he’s in between making a joke and being genuine. Always skirting a line. If that’s where Loki must be then Thor accepts it. They’ll meet somewhere in the middle and call it even.

Thor is forehead to forehead with Loki when the storm comes in. Then he’s got Loki’s hand in a grip, firm and resolute. He’s pulling Loki with him, running down the pathways and the trees through the flurrying snow, Loki’s wide eyes shining sea green in the night. Thor runs so fast that Midgard becomes a blur and they could be anywhere, any time. Everything’s relative, even them. All Thor knows is everything starts with a bang.

“Where are we going?” Loki gasps from behind.

Thor grins to himself, bites his lower lip, heart wild as a flock of birds in the brush go bursting into the air. He’s always dragging Loki along. 

“On an adventure!” He yells over the rush as Mjölnir comes hurtling into his hand.

When Thor looks back over his shoulder Loki’s features are flicking through a myriad of expressions, morphing in between the whips and flips of Thor’s red cape. Loki catches Thor watching and then smiles with the sort of mischievousness that has always made him look sweet. It’s a lie and a truth all at once. Thor feels the same smile mirrored upon his own face. There will always be ups and downs, right and wrongs. But they just are. This is them and there’s only one way to go from here.

Stop running and just fly.

*******

They must, anyway. Son of Coul says SHIELD’s new base is called a Helicarrier, but Thor figures that’s Midgardian for _flying ship._

*******

There’s a buzzing through every inch of his skin distracting Thor. The hair on the back of his neck is standing on end, a shiver running through his limbs. Overwhelmed with the intensity, it makes his heart pound and clothes feel too small. Lightheaded.

He hardly notices touching down on the flying fortress, its surface bereft of humans. The icy winds viciously licks at them both, pushing the air away before Thor can breathe it in, yet Loki remains unfazed, his arms locked around Thor’s waist. There’s no one in sight to help them, but Thor hardly cares that he must make an opening of his own. A streak of lightning from the storm strikes the hull, punching a hole in its metal hide. 

And then they’re barreling inside, weaving through the Helicarrier’s labyrinth, the utilitarian scenery creating a mosaic like dark rocks on a shore, all black and silver and gleaming. If there are any flabbergasted agents in their path Thor does not pay them any mind. Everything becomes shadows in the corners of his vision, until he and Loki are there. At Thor’s chamber door.

Loki pushes him against the frame, nails curling into his sides. 

Thor grunts in surprise, reaching out to cradle Loki’s face in his large hands and the door opens on a hiss behind him without a word.

“Exciting adventure,” Loki mutters as he walks Thor backwards, says it in sort of a mocking way but with all bark and no bite. Except when he does, crowding into Thor and clamping down on the side of his neck, rolling the thick skin between teeth. 

“ _Ah!_ ” Thor barks out in surprise, hits his head against the corner of a wall-mounted metal rack. It dents, spilling its contents to the floor. A few manuals, first aid kit, a photo of his friends from a physics journal, Darcy’s iPhone. Small things Phil and Thor had found to make himself at home in the few days upon arriving at the base.

Thor drops Mjölnir somewhere to the side and it hits the ground with a loud _clunk!_

Loki snickers into Thor’s flesh and then blows against the throbbing welt Thor can feel darkening on his own neck. Loki pushes some more— pushes out of his coat, the tails fanning out in black waves on the floor. Unhinges Thor’s breastplate with fingers so quick it could be magic, how fast their armor gets lost. He’s practically wrestling with Thor’s cape until they’ve fumbled all the way to the simple bed, falling back against the sheets like they’re just boys again. Like they’ve gone back in time. 

That’s the good thing about relativity— No matter what happens, no matter _when_ it happens, you can always go back to any moment you want for as long as you live. Thor knows this is what he will always come back to, what he remembers best; Loki, the person-shaped reason why he is mighty.

“What are they to you? These humans,” Loki asks between breaths, patience evaporating as he rolls atop Thor and kisses him without pretense. It’s like he can’t get enough, has to keep kissing Thor before he gets told to stop.

Thor shivers at the touch of Loki’s hands gliding everywhere within reach, rumpling up his shirt, then everything coming to a charged stop on his stomach just before Loki rips it open. Thor starts in shock as Loki’s cool palms smooth all the way up his bare chest, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Thor’s heaving for air as fingers tunnel through his hair, gripping tight, pulling.

“Allies,” Thor can barely answer between kisses with Loki’s mouth against him. Thor can feel his blood running hot, feverous through his ears. It makes his voice sound distant, breathless. A red blush spreads along his skin as sweat collects in the hollow of his neck as he swallows and says, stronger, “Friends.”

“As they are mine enemies,” Loki’s lips ghost across the shell of his ear, voice smooth and melodic and as sexy as Thor had ever dreamt. Loki reaches down and curls his fingers into the inseam of Thor’s pants and then tugs, a chuckle bouncing in his throat at the sudden jerk that ripples through Thor’s body. 

“That’s alright,” Loki says amusedly into his skin, drags teeth down his chest, catching lightly on a nipple and making Thor go _mad_. “I’ve always hated all your friends.” 

“Loki,” Thor groans, gripping the thin bed sheets and twisting.

“But what am _I_ to you?”Loki unfurls his grip on Thor’s pants, only to catch the fabric again, just a bit higher, unashamed.

“Brother,” Thor cannot help but moan as Loki caresses his sensitive cock through the garment. But he knows it’s not what Loki wants to hear the moment he says it.

“Shhhhsh,” Loki whispers, letting go to put an index finger to his own lips, leaning close and smiling darkly. 

His hand threads through Thor’s hair, slack. Touch turning soft. Thor exhales in a stutter as Loki delicately skims knuckles across his brow, temple, ear. His eyes threaten to fall closed as Loki uses a thumb to tenderly graze his cheek. Their chests are pressed together, Loki’s elbows digging into the bed cushions and Thor’s collarbone as he stares down, hair curtaining his face like the dark of night reaching out, “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Thor feels like all of his muscles are drawn tight, ready to snap into action in a flash. Then Loki’s mass atop Thor’s abdomen shifts, a leather-clad knee boney on his thigh before it slips to the mattress. Loki twists his hips slowly as he gets comfortable. The motion could almost be lazy except not quite. Because there’s a precision in the way Loki stares into him, penetratingly, just as the solid weight of his hard cock presses against Thor’s belly. 

Thor’s blood ignites. He can’t quite believe how much he’s sought this, yearned, and now it’s all on him at once. Under the drumming of his pulse, Thor hears his own childish voice like it was just yesterday. _I don’t want to lay with anyone!_ Ironic. He could almost laugh at his own obliviousness. He’s always had Loki at his side. 

Loki leans up, his hands slipping overtop each of Thor’s wrists. His fingers sinking into the spaces between Thor’s fingers. Linked, his voice is suddenly just a bit uneven, “Tell me what to do.”

“What— “ The words hitch in Thor’s throat, “Whatever you want.”

Loki smiles down at Thor, the kind of smile that pushes creases into the corners of eyes and makes cheeks seem fuller than they really are. Young.

“You shouldn’t trust me.” There’s defense in Loki’s voice, an edge even on the curve of a smile, “What if I want to hurt you? What if I want to call it _love?”_

He tugs his hands, threatening to break the connection, but Thor holds fast. Pulls where Loki pushes, keeps him where right where he is. Finding himself anchored to the spot, Loki bows down and kisses Thor roughly, rocking his hips agonizingly slow into Thor’s abdomen, lips warm and flushed and sticking. Thor gulps into the kiss, gripping through the beads of sweat between their hands as Loki murmurs into the side of his neck, “What if I want to make you come?”

A flash of heat plows up Thor’s spine and back down again, settling low in his gut, throbbing, painful. Aroused.

“N-Nothing you have not done before,” Thor admits on a swallow, shakily catching the back of Loki’s messy head and thin waist as their slippery hands unlink.

Loki stops, sits so still atop Thor it’s as if he’s trying to disappear. 

“Is that the truth?” 

Thor nods, cupping his sharp jaw and Loki tilts into it, just a little. A muscle is jumping in his cheek, and Thor wants to use his thumb to stretch the corner of his mouth, make him smile. But Loki turns his face all the way into his palm, mouth pressed against the scar there. He asks, voice intentionally toneless, the way one asks for the impossible with resignation and hope, “How can you even stand to keep me?”

A fierce instinct goes rattling through Thor’s bones. He can’t tell if it’s possessive or protective or brotherly or not, but does it really matter? What it all comes down to, when he thinks about it simply, it’s— 

“Because you are mine,” Thor whispers.

Loki presses his lips together, forehead wrinkling as his brows turn up. Thor almost expects him to protest, but then the expression is gone as Loki reaches down and pulls his green tunic over his head, flinging it somewhere behind. His chest is thinner than Thor’s, but still solid, attractive and real. Thor reaches out carefully, but Loki doesn’t wait. Just grabs Thor by the hands and presses them to himself, curls into the touch the way he always has. Never shy, always searching. 

Then Loki bears down, their pelvises pressed tight. The reaction is immediate. Thor groans and arches into the pressure on his cock like he’s been struck by lightning. A pleased moan vibrates in Loki’s throat in response. His chin digs into Thor’s collarbone and Loki sucks, hard and languid and not the least bit contrite. 

“Mnrrrgh,” Thor groans pitifully, loving and hating the torture all at once.

Loki writhes in slow undulating motions, hips grinding in a curve around the hard bulge of Thor’s cock. It makes Thor chew his lower lip to keep from losing himself in the back and forth, the lazy sway, heady like the surface of a sea. Making him drown. 

“I’ve toyed with you all this time, but you never realized,” Loki murmurs low and rueful as if he’s recollecting the years of deception between them. His voice reverberates through Thor’s chest, seems like he’s everywhere, filling the entire room with his presence, the heat and their mixed sweat. “It goes both ways. You can play with _me_ however you want.”

“ _Loki_ ,” Thor swears and his brother catches the name with his mouth.

The charge powering through his body shifts into something like static shock, dancing across all his nerves. Thor easily falls into a sensation that’s more desperate, more urgent, the atmosphere snapping into something dark and thick. Hot. 

He keeps Loki pressed down against him with two hands on the back of Loki’s head and neck, plundering Loki’s wide open mouth with a deep kiss that’s all tongue, slick and wet. Loki makes a weak sound of approval, trembling atop Thor but not fighting it. He stays right where he is, allows Thor to delve as far as he wants for how long as he wants.

“That’s it,” Loki moans achingly when Thor lets him up for air, as if Thor’s the one in complete control here, “Just like that.”

But one look at Loki’s face reveals that he knows exactly what he’s doing to Thor. Provoking, that knowing grin threatens to split his lips and Thor shoves a thumb against Loki’s mouth, wiping it across his lower lip in a rough swipe. 

“Oooh,” Loki croons on a hot breath against the offending finger, entertained and not the least bit abashed.

“Quiet,” Thor grits out, bleary through the haze of his arousal. It’s getting so hard to think he can scarcely argue properly. 

“Want me to shut up?” 

Thor’s gathering his wits to reply but it all gets flushed away when Loki licks a fat stripe up his thumb. Closes his mouth overtop, sucking. Thor cries out, bucking up into the devastation wreaked upon him with the simple action. 

“Want _that?_ ” Loki murmurs, the tip of his tongue flicking against the finger pad.

Thor nods incoherently and Loki snickers at him. Thor would glare but can’t seem to dredge up the energy to stay mad. He’s in awe, really, that his brother can be so— 

“Stay there,” Loki tells him, slowly pushing a handful of black locks off his forehead, a drop of sweat carelessly rolling down from his temple. “I’ll give you what you need.”

Loki presses soft wet kisses down the midline of his chest, warm fingertips trickling over his ribs like beads of sweat. Loki groans as he sucks on mouthfuls of skin. It has Thor hissing, the suction moving from pleasure to pain in fast bursts as Loki exhales and moves to new, lower spots. He finds the small puncture wound from before and licks it, the sting of their salty sweat and his tongue burning.

Thor lets out a sharp moan, capping it off quickly with a fist in his mouth. But he can’t help the smaller sounds that escape him as Loki touches him in measured movements through his pants, testing the boundaries already torn down. Thor clenches his stomach when he pulls the garment open and Loki slips his tongue through the course track of hair under his navel, the sensation hot and foreboding and very, very real.

“Fuck me,” Loki’s voice tremors, hot across the head of Thor’s cock. He wraps long fingers around it, squeezing and then stroking, slack and dry. Thor convulses at the sensation, mashes his hands into his eyes to keep his head level. Loki presses his lips to the column of it, “Make me sorry for what I did. Make me worthy.”

“You _are_ ,” Thor gasps out, hitching up into the touch, but Loki shakes his head, dragging his cheek along the length and says nothing more. He closes his lips overtop.

Thor’s head hits the bed pillows with a thud. Two. Three. 

“Uhnngg,” He moans, loud and drowning out the constant buzzing in his skin. He pushes the meat of his palms into his eye sockets, hips raising off the bed. He can feel himself sliding further into Loki’s throat. Instead of pulling back, Loki gags himself on Thor’s cock, moving up and down in slow smooth strokes.

“—Oh-Ohhnnggg,” The nonsensical groan pours from deep within Thor’s chest without abandon. There’s a throbbing in his throat that feels like his heartbeat and when he sucks desperately for air he realizes he’s thrusting roughly into Loki’s mouth on the same tempo.

“Nggck,” Loki pushes his hips back down hard, coughing, his mouth hanging open and raw and a line of saliva falling from his chin.“ _Yeah_ , Thor,” He growls, voice hitting a deep baritone, “ _Just_ like that.”

Thor fists one hand in the bed sheets, the other wrapping around Loki’s hair as he delves back down. Loki licks fatly over the length of his cock, smearing his face on it and sucking underneath the head. He pumps the shaft, sucking and letting Thor thrust desperately into his mouth until he’s struggling to breath— and then even a little beyond that. Thor grimaces, turning his face into the pillows. Finally, Loki lets the cock slip from his mouth and gasps wrack his body.

Thor pants, looking down the expanse of his body at Loki, head arched back in Thor’s tense grip. The apple of his throat bobs shallowly, the unyielding position forcing Loki into an angle that has him working for his breath, displayed. Loki’s flushed; eyes black and hooded, he looks genuinely pleased that Thor not going easy. Determined.

Thor struggles to hold onto his tattered control, ease his grip as Loki wrenches the pants from his legs, the sweat making them sticky and tight. But Loki won’t let him have reprieve, leaning back in and stroking Thor with both hands, slapping his cock against the flat of his tongue. Then Loki slides even lower, until he’s kneeling on the ground at the edge of the bed, moaning appreciatively as he spreads Thor’s thighs, pushing them up. Thor’s abs clench at the crushed position but Loki trails his nose through the crisp hairs, mouths at his balls, runs his soft wet tongue up the crease of Thor’s ass and— Thor freezes. Loki groans, presses close, and slides his tongue up and down hard on the exposed hole.

The sheets rip.

“Fuck,” Thor bellows, quaking violently as he comes. Behind his eyes is a flash of red and black, like blood down a palm, a beautiful red promise. Like lightning bolt nerve endings, splintering through the dark. He’s shaking, a quiver going through all his limbs on every slam of his pulse. 

“Mmmnn,” Loki rumbles, gliding his face down one of Thor’s sweaty thighs and then licking away a thick white stripe from his belly. Thor’s legs fall boneless to the bed, Loki patting him on the knee. “That’s good, Thor,” His voice is gravelly, used. He grins and starts rooting around with one hand for something on the floor through the debris from the wall rack.

“Br-Broth—“ Thor tries to say, but his mouth feels slack and useless, like he’s the one who’s been worked in, his body like the strings on an instrument, pulled tight and played until snapped. 

“Shhhsh,” Loki shushes again, clearing his throat and rummaging through a white box, throwing items he deems worthless behind him. Then his hand closes around something and he grins. “I _knew_ that human had an eye on you. You’re certainly prepared.” Loki’s mouth quirks up, “I’m not. Yet.”

“W-What?” Thor blinks blearily, sitting up on his elbows. 

“Never mind,” Loki tosses a small tube on the pillow and then slides up the bed, his long arms tunneling through the sheets on either side of Thor until he’s stretched out on his side. 

“You love me best,” Loki says into a greedy kiss, as if this is explanation enough.

Maybe it is.

Thor shudders as another aftershock goes through him, like a spark jumping in the pit of his gut. Loki’s arousal is thick and solid against his hip. Thor reaches out as Loki scrapes teeth over his bristled chin, but Loki snatches his hands, linking them by Thor’s head once again and rolling him onto his back. Sits on top of him.

Thor groans is disapproval.

“What do _you_ want,” Loki asks as if he’s in Thor’s head.

“To— _mngff_ —put you in your place,” Thor replies, the half thought coming out guttural and intense.

“ _Oh?_ ” Loki breathes expectantly, “And where is that? By your side?” He rotates his hips, stroking Thor’s cock against one leather-clad ass cheek, leaving a smear, “Or underneath you?” 

Thor clutches at Loki’s lithe thighs and Loki squeezes his knees on either side of his hips and then they’re rolling back and forth, over and under each other. There’s a growl, and Thor does not know if it is he or Loki or both but they end up in a heap on the floor.

And just as suddenly reappear upon the bed, completely divested by the magic that swirls away, Loki smirking up at Thor through a heavy glazed look. Then the smugness comes to a halt when his eyes land on Thor’s intimate parts. Thor can feel his blush return with a vengeance at Loki’s shameless stare, but Loki looks like that day, when he was pinned under Thor’s hammer, mouth fallen open, saliva lapping at his bottom lip. Loki flicks his eyes up to look at Thor, his face transforming into a hooded gaze. 

Slowly spreads his legs.

Thor’s cock jumps at the sight. He’s paralysed with the desire that surges through his body, the core of him burning up quick, like a candle wick.

“This where you want me?” Loki asks hoarsely.

Thor catches Loki by the jaw, holds him by his hollow cheeks tight. Loki inhales sharply, craning forward as Thor pushes him into the pillows by the throat.

“K—“ Loki’s voice catches, a flutter underneath Thor’s hand, “Keep me here.”

Loki reaches up to grab the tube from before, upends a generous amount of gel onto his fingers. His mouth turns into a wicked curl as he slithers his hand between their bodies, Thor’s chin nearly touching his own collarbone as he watches raptly. Loki slaps the slick liquid against Thor’s cock, shuddering in bliss as he coats it with firm strokes and then reaches lower. Sinks two long fingers inside himself.

“ _Loki_ ,” Thor rasps and Loki hooks an arm around his neck, pulling him down into a deep kiss. His knees slide up the bedding and Thor drops into the V of his legs, shivering, cock thick and heavy again as Loki pumps into himself, knuckles rolling against Thor’s pelvis like nervous tingles, “You look so good.”

Loki throws his head back and laughs, eyes dancing, “I know.” 

And just as quickly, his face goes soft and pleading, a deep compassion in his eyes laced with a thread of pain. “You’re good too. So good.”

Thor is shaking as he uses his free hand to yank Loki into a kiss by his hair. Thor gnaws hungrily at his mouth, sucking on Loki’s clever tongue, rubbing his chin into Loki’s cheeks. The _shsk-shsk-shsk_ of Loki’s fingers is loud and rousing as he catches Loki’s bottom lip between his teeth and _pulls._ Loki makes a wonderfully frustrated sound, jolting in his embrace. Thor presses down hard like it’s a fight he needs to win. Maybe if they get close enough they’ll make something close to perfect. 

“Please,” Loki pants, mouth plump and insistent as they break for air. He swallows hard and painfully under Thor’s grazing thumb and clutches at Thor’s face, hands damp, the scar on his palm wet and sliding through beard scruff. Loki swings both legs up and around his middle.

“Thor— Thor, just fucking _take me._ ”

Thor buries his face in the corner of Loki’s neck and with his help, sinks inside. The urgency is explosive. Loki pulls at Thor’s hair, claws at his back. Thor yells at the streaks of pain and pleasure, leaves bites along Loki’s shoulder to staunch the flow of his voice. A steady stream of _yes-yes-yes_ from Loki curls around him, like a roots taking hold. 

They can’t stop moving against each other. It’s always been that way. They’ve been pushed up against each other to the point of hatred, have tried to turn away and see something else. It never worked. They’d looked at each other like looking into a mirror— looking yourself right in the eyes. Why even turn away when you also love what you see? 

“Harder,” Loki snarls, low. His jaw rotates, a muscle jumping in his cheek, “Take what’s yours.” 

Thor grips Loki by the arms and pins him flat against the bed.

“Be careful what you say, Brother,” Thor says on a thrust that has Loki gasping, begins to pound into him with merciless force.

“Mmmmngg,” Loki seems determined to groan and sigh in appreciation of it all, clenching his muscles and pulling deep shuddering groans from Thor as retribution. 

The bed creaks on its metal frame and Thor’s ready to scream at how good it is— How they both draw it out, soft and gentle, and then come back at each other with adrenaline, hard and ruthless. It’s sweaty and hot, and like nothing he’s ever known before, but wants to keep discovering. And then Loki’s moans hitch higher, a sweet desperate sound that has his forehead wrinkling and brows turning up.

Thor kneels back on his haunches, slides his hands down Loki’s sides. His thumbs slip into the sharp indents of his hips, drawing lines through the sweat. Loki is a pale figure in the darkness, struggling for breath. His skin is stamped red wherever Thor has kissed or hit, dotted with saliva and also small patches of blue. Bruises, most likely, Thor’s got some too. Loki clamps his legs around Thor’s hips, tight, and Thor takes his cock in hand, pumps him hard and fast.

Loki cries out, arching off the bed as he comes. Thor is positively fucked by the sight, rocking into him anew as he collapses back down. Loki hugs Thor around his shoulders, and then whispers in his ear. Thor comes with a slow pleased shock, covering Loki’s body with his own until they are a panting messy heap upon the bed.

A soft kiss is placed on the crown of Thor’s head as they lay together, tangled up.

“We could rule this world, if we really wanted,” Loki whispers like it’s dirty talk, perhaps because it’s so close to the truth. He smoothes back Thor’s hair, “We could create a new place, one where we can be who we want and do anything we wish.”

“We could save it,” Thor says instead.

“Hmmmm,“ Loki hums, pushing his forehead against Thor’s. Thor takes a deep dragging breath committing this to memory. They’re kissing again, slow, so slow, skin damp and sticking together, limbs entwined. Loki smiles against his lips, “Or we could fight each other for all eternity. That’d be a bit of fun.”

A chuckle escapes the sated depths of Thor’s chest, “Stop.”

“Never,” Loki peppers kisses all over Thor’s face, a reflection of what came before. Thor writhes under the attention, heart so full of love and happiness he could burst before Loki lets out a breathless laugh, eyes dancing in the way Thor remembers, like back in Asgard. Back when Loki used to whisper to maidens in the corners of the court. Thor had always wondered jealously, what he said to them, what Loki saw that made him shine so bright.

“You should see your face,” Loki says smugly.

And Thor replies quietly, almost so quietly he does not say it at all, “Tell me what you see.”

Loki looks at him then, blank-faced, pausing to cast his gaze down the entire length of Thor and back up. But it’s a show more than anything else, just a little drama, because it’s obvious he doesn’t even spare it a thought. Loki shifts and his arms band around Thor’s middle in a firmer embrace.

“My Brother.”

He’s such a liar. 

Thor can’t help but smile. Maybe it was always going to mean something different, something good. He doesn’t mind. He’d never even considered that falling meant there might be something better on the other side.

*******

More often than not, the one you love and the one who loves you are never the same person.

But there’s no one like them.

*******

**Epilogue**

_Knock! Knock!_

Thor groggily wraps the bed covers over his head. 

The sounds of the base’s activity begin to filter in, threatening to whisk Thor away from his sleep. It’s all familiar now; the bouncing faraway din of conversations, the tinny rhythmic pulse of footsteps. Something you get used to after living for months on a flying ship filled with assassins, spies and superheroes.

The whine of the engines has died down though, and there’s a too-warm spot on his back through the sheets that feels like the golden light of morning flowing in from the small porthole window. They’ve finally landed then.

The peaceful atmosphere shatters with Steve Roger’s voice. 

“Thor! Wake up!” 

Thor grumbles and pushes his face into a pillow, one that shifts underneath his nose, “Nngh?”

“Move over,” Loki pushes at Thor’s face blearily, twisting up in the sheets and kicking Thor in the shin. “Or better yet, get out.”

“This is _my_ room.” Thor grumbles, squinting and peaking out a crack in the sheets to confirm it. “Besides, you said you would leave before touchdown—” Thor jolts, flapping around under the sheets to grab Loki’s ankle, “Your feet are like ice!”

“Let go,” Loki bickers back, ignoring the fact that he’s stayed the night at risk of getting caught, “Or I’ll cut off your hand.”

_Knock! Knock!_

“Come ON, Thor!”

Thor jumps at the shout, clutching the sheets close to his chest. And then he yanks the sheets over Loki too. But Loki begins to laugh, draping himself over Thor’s lap with careless grace. 

“Don’t make me come in there!” Tony Stark adds helpfully. Is _everyone_ outside his door?

“Been there, done that,” Loki snickers madly, and without shame he smacks Thor on the ass.

Thor gasps and then scowls deeply, attempting to hide his blush. But judging by the look on Loki’s face he’s unsuccessful. Thor grunts and valiantly drags himself out of bed, made difficult with Loki yawning and rolling all over him instead of disappearing back to his own place.

“Away with thee,” Thor struggles for an excuse, “I am... I am indecent!”

“Nothing we haven’t seen before,” Clint Barton says ironically from behind the door.

Loki lets out a pitiful fake moan of distress, “You have too many boyfriends, Thor. See, this is why I do bad things. I’m jealous.”

Thor covers his mouth as a snort of laughter escapes, “You. Stop.”

“No,” Loki taunts grinning and hanging upside down off the foot of the bed as Thor scrambles to collect his clothes. 

“Yes,” Thor says, pulls his pants on backwards only to have them disappear with a whorl of gold magic.

“No,” Loki smirks, curling his outstretched finger in and beckoning Thor back to bed. There’s a series of knocks on the door again that has Thor storming around looking for new pants with haste.

“Thor, it’s Loki!” Bruce Banner’s voice follows, “He was seen cavorting around London!”

“A _copy?_ Really?” Thor whispers under his breath in dismay, head stuck in a tunic’s neckhole. His brother’s a sort of career villain, spreading mischief wherever Thor goes. It’s just the way he is. 

Thor struggles with the garment and nearly falls over Mjölnir lying haphazard on the floor.

Loki sticks out his tongue and rolls again, watching with an amused smile. Thor stares back. The sunlight catches somewhere just behind Loki, making his pale skin glow. Tiny specks of dust twirl in the air, dancing around in the rays as Loki rests his cheek against folded arms and raises one eyebrow.

_Knockknockknockknock—_

“Why are you all standing around? Never mind—“ Someone who sounds terribly like Natasha Romanov yells, “CLEAR!”

The door blows open.

“Things were getting boring,” Loki says as a thick column of smoke plows into the room. He sounds far too amused for his own good, like he’s lying through his teeth and happy about it. “Figured it was time your friends finally knew.”

Thor eyes his brother in shock but it’s too late, he’s cut off from any reply by loud theatrical groans.

“Holy shit,” Tony blinks, flabbergasted, “No way.”

There is a long pause, and Thor can feel his face burning as Steve’s mouth falls open and Clint’s sunglasses slide down his nose. The prickling nervousness is only punctuated and drawn out by the heavy crackle of an open radio link.

“Call’s off, Coulson.” Steve says, numbly, “Target found.”

Tony twitches and the mic flicks off. 

It’s not like they don’t know about Thor’s preferences. He’s been determined to be himself from now on, start fresh— though there is something to be said about being found in bed with your evil little brother. 

Thor twists the tunic behind his back, body thrumming with a restless destructive energy he knows well. Oh, Loki’s definitely going to get it. But one glance at him shows he doesn’t seem to mind.

It’s Bruce who finally, asks slowly, gobsmacked, “Uh... so you two are...?” 

“Brothers,” Thor says just as Loki replies: “Lovers.”

Thor frowns, searching for something in the middle.

“Friends?” He tries but Loki says: “ _Foes.”_

Natasha crosses her arms and very nearly sighs. Nearly. 

“You all know what this means, right?”

*******

“Welcome to the Avengers Initiative.”

Director Nick Fury says this resolute and straight-laced.

“Thank you,” Loki charmingly replies. The calm sea breeze combs through his hair like gentle fingers, the salty water smell clinging to the air. 

“The paperwork’s going to be a nightmare,” Phil tells Thor as he walks past, but his face is kind, words encouraging as he says, “Good luck.”

“He’s your problem now,” The Avengers laugh and roll their eyes. Shrugging and elbowing Thor, they infuse him with their friendships with each simple touch. One by one they leave the briefing atop the helicarrier, vanishing into the depths of the base. The Man of Iron rockets away into the air. The thing is though, Loki’s always been Thor’s problem. But some problems are really wonderful to have.

“I have never been prouder,” Thor says finally, twirling Mjölnir, a sheepish nervous gesture, looking up at Loki as if seeing him for the first time, finally standing on the same page. “Now please do me a favour and not play any jokes on your new teammates.”

“Need I constantly remind you?” Loki smirks widely, as though that’s _exactly_ what he was considering. “I’m not good, Thor.”

Then Loki shifts. Looks to have the beginnings of an itch, of a need to get away. Sometimes the truth does that, and Thor knows what it’s like. He knows his brother better than anyone, loves his brother better than everyone, and only has one thing to say before Loki goes chasing after a little bit of fun. Gives Thor a reason to run after him.

Joining the Avengers just might be a good adventure to drag him along on. _Besides_ , Thor thinks with an unwavering fondness, with love.

It’s only when they’re loving each other no one else gets hurt.

Thor steps forward, presses his lips together. He’s in between making a joke and being genuine as he places a hand against the soft spot between Loki’s neck and shoulder. He says with all the truth of the world in his words, “You are a good Brother.”

Loki meets his eyes for just a moment, one moment where Thor can see it all— The love, the denial, the fact that Loki doesn’t care about being contrary. But he doesn’t reply. He lets Thor have this sentiment before shooting a mischievous grin Director Fury who stands just to the side, watching with that one eye. He’s a lot like father, in a way. 

Thor nods and squeezes Loki’s shoulder harder, only has eyes for his brother who stands like a silhouette in the glare of the sun on the deck. Deep oranges and reds and golds waver and wash over the water, a light so bright it burns Midgard whole, in a beautiful starry flame. 

Then Loki steps back and turns on his heel. Grins over his shoulder. He looks like the Loki he’s always been; that smiling, thinking Loki, blowing him a kiss.

Thor even feels its faint press as Loki disappears. 

He can’t stop the smile crawling up his mouth. It’s a practiced reaction, one he’s powerless against. He’ll always smile when Loki looks at him that way, so endlessly in love with his multifaceted nature, even now. 

They were together in breaking free.

“Don’t make me regret this decision.” Fury turns pointedly to Thor, staring evenly, like he’s carved out of stone.

“I won’t,” Thor nods, the English sun pushing his eyelids low, the warmth nice and strong. “How long will we stay here?”

“Until the new mission’s done. We can use Loki’s skills against Doom.” Fury says, crossing his arms behind his back and stepping next to Thor to watch the horizon. “In the meantime, I hear there are some fairly important physicists in town.”

Thor’s eyelashes flicker, his heartbeat fast.

“And don’t listen to those idiots’ griping. SHIELD is completely inclusive.”

Thor blinks and turns to the one-eyed man, gold in the light. “To what do you refer?”

Fury clears his throat, bounces on his heels once, and then asks very, very seriously, “Well, you’re gay. Aren’t you?”

Thor is struck by the question. 

There’s a loose easy feeling in his chest as he thinks upon this, as if there used to be something whirled up tight inside that has now gone. Of all that has happened in his life, Thor knows he has grown like the tall twisted branches of Yggdrasil, wrapped around the good and the bad, tangled up in a knot he only knew as himself. A vain, angry little boy, curled up in a ball.

And he remembers the pain. The sadness and the anger. He remembers the guilt, the shame, and being so, so alone. But in this moment the feelings are so distant it’s like he’s become impervious. Strong. Everything that came before is obscured, like history carved into pillars, holding him up as he looks towards the sky. 

There are storm clouds rolling in.

Thor has come so far, to finally know what he wants. He has waited so long— to be just the way he is. It feels like he’s never known such breathtaking happiness before, but that cannot be. He lets out a soft burst of laughter, closing his eyes against the sun as the first few raindrops patter against his face. Happiness has always been there, within reach, and now he recognizes its shine as sure as home. 

“Yes,” Thor finally says.

“I am.”

 

**THE END**


End file.
